


Wayward

by DeathBelle



Series: Plumage [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A little angst, Alcoholism, Alternate title: Yamagata Hayato's Sexual Awakening, Exotic Dancer!AU, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, alcohol use, background TenSemi, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Yamagata has always been a natural disaster. He sleeps around, drinks too much, and his life is a complete mess.Kawanishi likes him anyway, which is inconvenient.Kawanishi refuses to date him, because he would be setting himself up for a catastrophe. But dating and sex are different, and it can't hurt to hook up with Yamagata every now and then, for their mutual benefit. No feelings are involved, which means neither of them will get hurt.That's what Kawanishi tells himself every time he finds himself in bed with Yamagata, and if he says it enough, maybe it will be true.
Relationships: Kawanishi Taichi/Yamagata Hayato
Series: Plumage [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670707
Comments: 198
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place shortly after True Colors and overlaps a little with Plumage. I plan to update every other Friday!

Yamagata was a good dancer. Even Kawanishi couldn’t argue with that, and he could argue with almost anything. It wasn’t the particular style of dance that Kawanishi preferred; it was too gritty and suggestive and a little sloppy at times, although Yamagata somehow made it work. Regardless, he was a good dancer, and sometimes Kawanishi liked watching him. But only when he was certain Yamagata wouldn’t notice; that would go to his ego, and it was big enough as is.

But tonight Yamagata wasn’t a good dancer. He was average at best, and Kawanishi knew something was wrong the moment Yamagata climbed onto the stage. It wasn’t his first dance of the night; far from it. It was nearly midnight, which meant they’d had several hours to get warmed up.

And Yamagata had had several hours to drink.

He tilted a little sideways on his way up the stairs, and it wouldn’t have been that noticeable if Kawanishi hadn’t seen him ascend them sober on a hundred other occasions. Even when Yamagata stepped up to the pole on center stage he swayed a little, reaching a hand out for balance, his bare shoulders dusted by the multicolored lights. 

Kawanishi was near the back of the stage, having just returned from a private dance, and he couldn’t see Yamagata’s face from that angle.

But he didn’t need to. He could picture it in his mind all too clearly.

The music kicked and Yamagata started dancing, his pace a little slower than usual, movements more exaggerated and unsteady. The crowd seated at side-stage tossed money at his feet. They didn’t seem to notice the difference.

Kawanishi did.

He turned away and paced over to the bar, his heels clicking against the floor. The customers he passed along the way gave him glances of unrestrained interest, but he kept his eyes forward and ignored them. He’d found that if he walked with purpose, customers were usually too intimidated to interrupt him. 

Tendou was on the furthest chair, slouched halfway onto the bar as he tapped at his phone. Semi was inexpertly mixing a drink, and although Kawanishi knew Semi’s frown was only a product of concentration, an outside observer would have assumed he was contemplating murder.

Kawanishi sat beside Tendou, and though the chair was particularly tall to match the height of the bar, it was a little too low for him. The eight inch heels helped.

“Has anyone told you that you look particularly stunning tonight, Taichi?” said Tendou, glancing away from his phone to slide a grin at him. “New outfit, right? I hope you’re getting tipped well, considering how much of your ass is hanging out.”

That wasn’t the lewdest comment Kawanishi had heard that night, and it was softened even further coming from Tendou. He was joking, always joking. He’d never truly found Kawanishi attractive, not in that way, and that was the reason Kawanishi tolerated his company. 

He hadn’t been sure until Semi had arrived. Then it became quite clear what Tendou looked like when he was smitten.

“Hayato is drinking too much again,” said Kawanishi, completely disregarding that comment. He often did that with the things Tendou said. 

Tendou twisted on his chair to check the stage. Kawanishi didn’t look back. He stared forward at nothing until Semi finished his drink and approached, a little red-faced. He’d been bartending for nearly three months and still got flustered at times. It would have been cute, if Kawanishi cared about such things.

“Hey Taichi, you want something?” said Semi. He’d just started using Kawanishi’s given name a couple of weeks ago. The first time he’d said it he’d winced, as if he thought Kawanishi would snap at him for being so informal.

“No. How many drinks have you given Hayato?”

Semi frowned, a different frown than his concentration one, and leaned over to look at the stage. “I wasn’t counting. Several, I guess.”

“Maybe you should count,” said Kawanishi, his voice edged, “because he clearly won’t.”

“He’s not too bad off yet.” Tendou swiveled back around. “Just a little tipsy. He was way drunker than that when he broke his ankle last year.”

“That’s the standard, then,” said Kawanishi. “As long as he doesn’t break any bones, it’s fine.”

“That’s not what I-”

“I’ll cut him off,” said Semi, talking over Tendou. He flipped a dishtowel onto his shoulder and checked the span of the bar, probably to make sure no other customers had approached. “He won’t like it.”

“Don’t tell him I said anything,” said Kawanishi. He rose and adjusted the straps crisscrossing over his hips. “He’ll think I care.”

“We wouldn’t want that!” said Tendou as Kawanishi walked away. “It would be a shame for someone to think Taichi has a single feeling!”

Semi’s snapped reply was barely audible over the music. “Shut up, Tendou.”

Kawanishi would deny it if anyone asked, but he genuinely liked Semi.

He waited against the wall until his name was announced after the next song. Yamagata was still on stage, cycling to one of the side poles, and he gave Kawanishi an obnoxious wave. His grin was too wide and his eyes were a little glassy. Kawanishi ignored him and waited for the next song to start.

Kawanishi had hated everything about Plumage when he’d first started working there. He hated dancing in front of people, he hated walking around mostly naked, and he especially hated the way the customers looked at him. Stripping wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do, and if someone had asked him two years ago, he would have confidently stated that he would rather die than put himself in that position.

Yet here he was, twisting into a perfect pirouette and swinging into a slow spin, dressed in such a skimpy, strappy outfit that his mother would weep if she saw him in such a state. 

Or maybe she wouldn’t. Ever since he’d dropped out of university, she hadn’t seemed to care much about him. He’d never thought he was the most expendable of his siblings, but he’d been proven wrong. They had careers, after all; real ones, with real, stable incomes. That was what his family had always cared about, even if he hadn’t realized it until he’d been cut out like a cancerous growth. It was always about money for them.

Kawanishi wished he had even a tenth of the money in his parents’ bank account. He’d taken growing up wealthy for granted and he regretted it.

“Hey, Osprey.” One of the customers leaned on the edge of the stage, a few folded bills between his fingers. 

Kawanishi was fortunate that he’d mastered the art of remaining expressionless at any given time. It was the only reason he didn’t cringe.

Tendou had given him that name when he’d started, because he’d insisted that Kawanishi needed to fit in with the theme and Kawanishi hadn’t cared enough to choose on his own. 

Kawanishi didn’t think it was the name itself that bothered him; just the act of being addressed as a stripper.

He should’ve come to terms with it by now. He was still trying.

Despite his disdain, Kawanishi sank down and crawled to the edge of the stage, rising up on his knees and hooking a finger into one of his straps. He tugged it out and the customer slipped the money into it, his fingertips brushing Kawanishi’s skin for a fleeting, uncomfortable moment before the strap snapped back into place. The customer grinned up at him, and though he could have passed for traditionally handsome, Kawanishi didn’t like him.

It wasn’t a surprise. Kawanishi rarely liked anyone, and never when it was a customer.

“Could I get a private dance after this, doll?” The man asked, slowly settling back into his chair.

Kawanishi wanted to yank off one of his heels and slap the man in the face with it. He hated pet names, especially from strangers, especially when they were patronizing. Kawanishi was a grown man. Wearing heels and lingerie didn’t change that. 

“Sure,” said Kawanishi. He didn’t have to try and keep his voice level. It was automatic, no matter how irritated he was. Reacting to anyone in any way seemed like a weakness. “Come find me when I’m off stage.”

The man grinned again and slinked out of his chair as the song dragged to an end. Kawanishi tried not to think about that as he collected his earnings and rotated to the right. Private dances shouldn’t bother him. He did them frequently, multiple times per night.

And even if it did bother him, his personal feelings didn’t matter. This was a job. 

“Y’alright, Taichi?” Yamagata tried to pat him on the shoulder as he passed by, but Kawanishi sidestepped. 

“Yes.”

Yamagata’s head tilted, but he was still grinning. He looked like a confused rottweiler. “I can never tell when you’re lying, you know that?”

“Get off the stage, Hayato.” Kawanishi turned away from him and flipped himself upside down on the pole, just so he wouldn’t have to look at Yamagata. He wasn’t as good at aerial tricks as Tendou, of course – or even Semi, who was much better than Kawanishi cared to acknowledge – but he’d made a lot of progress since he’d first started. It hadn’t been easy, considering he’d refused to let anyone teach him anything for the first three months, but he’d eventually given in and taken some advice from Oohira. Mostly everything else he’d learned from observation.

Yamagata mumbled something, the words lost in the grind of the music. Kawanishi hooked a knee and leaned back, watching upside-down as Yamagata stepped onto the floor and headed straight toward the bar. Semi was talking to Tendou, who was dressed down since it wasn’t his night to work. Yamagata approached them with a sideways swagger, and Kawanishi pulled himself upright so he wouldn’t have to see if Semi served him a drink or not.

Kawanishi didn’t care anyway. Yamagata had been drinking himself closer to a coma since they’d met. It was his own problem, and Kawanishi had nothing to do with it.

Kawanishi looped an arm around the pole and dropped into a controlled split, his heels clacking against the floor as he landed. A flutter of money hit the stage, and he glanced at the bar again.

Yamagata’s arms were folded and his shoulders were high. He was speaking to Semi, and there wasn’t a drink in his hand.

Kawanishi slid out of his split and rolled onto his back, trailing his hands down the backs of his legs, tangling his fingers in the straps at his thighs as he tilted his head back to watch the bar.

Yamagata stormed off. He still didn’t have a drink.

Tendou caught Kawanishi’s eyes and did something suggestive with his eyebrows. Kawanishi ignored him and focused on dancing.

It was a long night, but that was nothing new. Most nights were long. Kawanishi was used to it. At least it had been profitable, and he counted out Ushijima’s share of his private dance funds as he approached the bar again. Ushijima wasn’t there, which was something that had never happened until a few months ago when Semi had started bartending. Apparently Ushijima now thought the club was in safe hands if he chose to take off a night here and there. Kawanishi gave the money to Semi instead, who slapped it with a sticky note and scrawled “Taichi” on it before stowing it away in a lockbox beneath the counter.

“That outfit really does look good on you,” said Semi. His compliments were much more palatable than Tendou’s. “Black is your color.”

Kawanishi raised an eyebrow. “That’s a biased opinion, considering black is the only color you ever wear.”

Semi rolled his eyes. “Take a fucking compliment.”

“Fine.” 

“You’re welcome.” Semi smiled at him and picked up a discarded dishcloth.

Semi didn’t smile much. It was so infrequent that it looked awkward on his face, like he hadn’t been happy in so long that he’d almost forgotten how.

Kawanishi hadn’t liked Semi when he’d first started. He’d thought Semi was arrogant and pompous and had such a high opinion of himself that he refused to interact with the other dancers. He wasn’t like that really. It hadn’t taken Kawanishi long to figure that out. 

And now Semi was dating Tendou, and no one could think they were better than anyone else while they were dating Tendou.

Kawanishi still wasn’t sure how that had happened. He’d seen it coming, but that didn’t mean it made sense. At least Tendou was less annoying now, because he spent so many hours gently harassing Semi that he didn’t have much time to spare for the rest of them.

Kawanishi crossed the room and dipped behind the curtain that led to the back rooms. The music was still loud and a pair of dancers were still on stage, but he wouldn’t be called again. Even if he was, there were so few customers left that he wouldn’t waste his time. He paced down the hallway, pushed open the dressing room door labeled “Osprey”, and came to a stiff stop in the doorway.

Kawanishi was fortunate enough to have the only individual dressing room in the club. The other veteran dancers were paired up. He wasn’t pretentious enough to think it was because he was the best dancer there, because he clearly wasn’t. If that was the standard, Semi would have been the one with his own room. Kawanishi was singled out because he had made no secret of his desire to be left alone at all times, and Ushijima had done his best to accommodate that.

It seemed not everyone had gotten the memo.

Yamagata was sitting on the floor, his legs splayed and his head tilted back against the wall. His eyes were closed and his face was so relaxed that he must have been sleeping. 

Kawanishi glanced back into the hallway. No one else was around. Yamagata’s dressing room was right next door, printed with “Falcon” and “Griffin”. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong room and was too tired to realize it.

Too tired, or too drunk.

Kawanishi sighed and yanked the door closed behind him. It snapped and Yamagata stirred, his eyelids squeezing more tightly before slowly blinking open. His stare was glassier than it had been on stage, a little unfocused as he stared up at Kawanishi.

“Ey, Taichi.”

“You have your own dressing room. Use it.” Kawanishi sat in a fold-out chair and unstrapped his heels. They left deep imprints across the tops of his feet. Wearing them all night every night had been miserable at first, but he’d gotten used to it, the same as he’d gotten used to everything else. 

“Yeah, but Reon will be in there soon,” said Yamagata. He sat up and squinted at Kawanishi, as if trying to see him more clearly, but gave up and let his head rest against the wall again. 

“So?” Kawanishi put his heels aside, right beside the other three pair lined up along his mirror. 

“I don’t want him to look at me.”

Kawanishi sighed. He shouldn’t ask. He really, really shouldn’t. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t his problem. 

“What do you mean?” said Kawanishi flatly, because he clearly enjoyed making himself miserable.

Yamagata gestured unhelpfully and his hand flopped down to the floor. “Like… the way he looks at me when I’ve been drinking. Kinda… disappointed. Nobody wants to disappoint Reon. He’s like… He’s never done anything wrong, right?”

Kawanishi didn’t think that was true, but he didn’t say so. “If I say I’m disappointed in you, will you leave?”

“No. It’s different with you. You’re… different.”

Kawanishi didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he made the intelligent decision not to ask. He pulled on a pair of socks and stood to unfold his sweatpants from their neat pile on the table. “Do you plan to sit on the floor all night then?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate, and Kawanishi didn’t ask him to.

Kawanishi stepped into his sweatpants and yanked them up to his hips. The strappy outfit underneath wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it would be fine until he got home. He grabbed his t-shirt and was halfway into it when Yamagata said, “You look really good, Taichi.”

Kawanishi yanked the hem of his shirt over the straps peeking above his sweatpants. “It was on sale.”

“No, I mean… well yeah, that’s hot too, but… just you. You look really good. Not tonight, just… yeah. All the time.”

Kawanishi stared down at him. He wondered if Yamagata really meant that or if it was just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol. “You’re drunk, Hayato.”

“I am not.”

“You already admitted you are, otherwise you would be in your own dressing room.” Kawanishi pulled his jacket on and zipped it up. “I’m leaving, before you say something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

“No, wait.” Yamagata tried to stand, fell on his ass, and tried again. He leaned heavily on the wall as he dragged himself upright, and kept a shoulder braced against it as he stood to face Kawanishi. “I mean it. I never tell you ‘cause it seems weird, you know? But it’s true. You look great. Even all…” Yamagata flicked a hand at Kawanishi’s baggy clothes. “And I get pissed when you’re wearing the heels because… yeah, but… you look good in those, too.”

Kawanishi sighed, silently. “Go home.”

Either Yamagata didn’t hear that or he chose to ignore it. “Sometimes I think… Like, if you weren’t… I mean, it’s not with the other guys, ‘cause they’re  _ guys _ , you know? And I’m not… but you’re just…”

“Shut up, Hayato.” Kawanishi yanked open the dressing room door and tilted his head toward it. “Go get dressed. Maybe Reon will feel bad for you and walk you home.”

Yamagata stumbled closer, and Kawanishi thought he would do as he was told.

Instead, Yamagata stopped in front of him and grabbed a handful of Kawanishi’s jacket. He looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I want you to take me home.”

Kawanishi looped his fingers around Yamagata’s wrist and tried to pull his hand away. His grip dug in harder. “No.”

“Why?”

“Why would I? It’s your own fault you’re like this. You need to learn when to quit.”

“Come home with me,” said Yamagata.

It was almost what he’d said before, but not quite. The small difference was significant. Kawanishi dug his fingers into Yamagata’s fist and pried it away from his jacket. “No.”

“But I-”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Hayato.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” Yamagata swayed in place, just slightly. “Come home with me.”

Kawanishi frowned at him. He wondered if Yamagata had convinced Semi to keep serving him drinks after all, or if he’d already had so many prior to midnight that he was still wasted two hours later. Maybe he’d asked the customers to buy them for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Kawanishi said, “Okay.”

Yamagata stood up a little straighter, his blurry eyes brightening. “Really?”

Kawanishi left the dressing room and Yamagata followed a close, unsteady pace behind. They traveled a few steps down the hallway and Kawanishi stopped in front of the next door. He knocked and waited quietly until Oohira opened it.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” said Kawanishi, stepping aside and pushing Yamagata a step forward. “Suggestions?”

Yamagata clumsily spun around, his jaw slack. He looked as if he’d been utterly betrayed. 

Oohira shook his head. He was half-dressed, his arm flexing as he reached out to grip Yamagata’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. Come in and sit down, Hayato. I’ll get you some water and we’ll get you to your apartment.”

Yamagata didn’t turn away from Kawanishi, even as Oohira navigated him into the dressing room. His voice slurred a little as he said, “But you said you’d come with me.”

“I lied,” said Kawanishi, as he walked away. 

Yamagata whined something after him, but Oohira closed the door and saved Kawanishi from having to hear it.

This wasn’t the first time that Yamagata had gotten uncomfortably close to flirting with him. It had happened several times before, with increasing frequency over the past few months. 

But it was only when Yamagata was drunk, so it meant nothing.

Kawanishi nodded at Semi on his way out, dodged Tendou’s long-armed attempt at a goodbye hug, and left the club. He glanced at his phone as he stepped onto the sidewalk. 2:15.

Seventeen hours until he had to come back.

  
  
  


Kawanishi generally tried not to think about Plumage when he wasn’t there. He went to work, got paid, came home, and any time after that was his own. 

Unfortunately, Plumage – and its dancers in particular – had an annoying way of inserting themselves into his daily life.

He woke up at nine-thirty, which was a little too early considering he hadn’t gotten into bed until after three, but he couldn’t fall back asleep. In his stubborn refusal to get up, he chose to stare at his phone for the next hour and pretend he couldn’t hear the neighbor banging pans together through the thin apartment wall. 

He remembered the condo his parents had rented for him when he was attending university. He’d never heard a single sound from the neighbors on either side of him. It had been perfect silence, and Kawanishi had been too entitled to appreciate it.

He wondered where he would be living now, if he hadn’t dropped out. Maybe in the same condo, the lease funded by his own professional salary instead of his father’s. Maybe he would be working for a prestigious company, pulling nine-to-five shifts and drinking a lot of coffee served by a dainty secretary in a short skirt. That was the dream job that his father had always drilled into his head, because he wanted Kawanishi to be just like him.

Kawanishi had a lot of regrets, but not turning out like his father wasn’t one of them.

Although he wouldn’t have turned down the salary. He made decent money at the club, but nowhere near the level of a top-tier CEO.

He wondered if he would always be at the club, or if his non-existent modeling career would ever take off. He’d done a few side gigs here and there, for such little money that it had basically been on a volunteer basis to get some pictures for his portfolio. They were good, but not as good as they needed to be. It was a hard industry to succeed in. He wished he’d known that before he’d canceled his entire life to pursue a threadbare dream.

After a year of contemplation, he’d decided it was his parents’ fault. They’d always given him everything he wanted, so it hadn’t crossed his mind that he wouldn’t immediately get this, too. 

It was easier to blame them than it was to blame himself.

His phone screen lit up. He blinked out of a daze, vaguely realizing that he’d been staring at nothing for so long that it had gone dark. A message popped up, and Kawanishi read it a couple of times before tossing his phone over his shoulder and curling more comfortably beneath the sheets. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Plumage, or the rocky trajectory of his life, or the man who was probably sending him another text even as the thought crossed his mind.

He waited half an hour before rolling toward his phone, and realized it had actually only been five minutes. He’d gotten three more messages in addition to the first, which was no surprise. Yamagata could send no less than three texts at a time.

_ Hey Taichi, want to go out for brunch? The usual spot. _

_ Don’t ignore this text, I know you’re awake.  _

_ I’ll buy. _

_ Meet me there at 11? _

Kawanishi clicked his phone screen off again. Usually Yamagata only asked him to go out for Sunday brunch. It was Thursday, and he didn’t think he’d ever been invited out on a Thursday. He wondered if Semi or Tendou or Oohira were getting the same annoying messages. 

The phone flashed one last time.

_ Come on Taichi, I need to talk to you _ .

Kawanishi rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. He didn’t want to talk to Yamagata. There was no point. He already knew how the conversation would go. Yamagata would say something like  _ Hey, about last night. You know I was just messing with you, right? It was just a joke. I didn’t mean any of that. I was a little more drunk than I thought, I didn’t really know what I was saying and obviously I don’t think you’re attractive. I only like girls. You know that and you still waste your time thinking about me when you know I’m something you can’t have. It’ll never happen and I don’t like you and- _

Kawanishi raised his head and took a breath. 

Yamagata would never say those things to him. Even if they were true.

He picked up his phone to find another message.

_ Please? _

Kawanishi regretted it even as he typed back a response.

_ 11:30 _ .

He flipped the phone face down and refused to look at it again as he crawled out of bed to get dressed. 

Their usual café was a fifteen-minute walk from Kawanishi’s apartment. He passed Plumage on the way and pointedly did not look at it. He would see it again soon enough. For now he would continue to pretend it didn’t exist.

The café was crowded, probably because it was later than they usually met up. Kawanishi frowned at the idea of joining the queue to wait for a table, but a blur of motion caught his attention and he found Yamagata waving to him from across the room, already seated at a high top in the corner. Kawanishi carefully slipped through the crowd to join him.

“Hey, you came,” said Yamagata. He smiled, but it was a little tense. The skin beneath his eyes was dark and he was a touch paler than usual. 

“You look awful.” Kawanishi pulled out a chair and sat. He glanced around the café, mostly so he didn’t have to analyze the way Yamagata was looking at him. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No. I only invited you.”

“Wow,” said Kawanishi. “How’d I get so lucky? Please tell me so I can never do it again.”

“You really mean that?”

Kawanishi dragged his stare back to Yamagata, who watched him with more intensity than usual. It was a little unsettling. Instead of answering, Kawanishi said, “What do you want to talk about?”

Yamagata expelled a breath and leaned back in his chair. His clothes were wrinkled, and Kawanishi suspected he’d plucked them out of a pile on his floor. His hair was perfect though, not a single strand out of place. “Did I say some weird shit to you last night?”

Kawanishi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

“I… yeah, sort of. I wasn’t  _ drunk _ drunk.” He folded his arms and twisted his mouth in a way that was reminiscent of a pout. “I remember exactly what was going on, but I don’t know how much of it stayed in my head and how much I said out loud.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much. Then you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Fuck you. I don’t drink that much.”

Kawanishi gave him a flat stare.

A server approached with two glasses. One of them was the juice Kawanishi liked; Yamagata must have ordered it for him. The other one was a mixed drink filled with happy champagne bubbles.

“Really?” said Kawanishi, as Yamagata reached for it. “Hayato, seriously?”

“What?” snapped Yamagata, defensive. “I have a headache, alright? It helps. It’s just one drink, it’s not like- hey, hang on, where are you going?”

Kawanishi was halfway to the door when Yamagata caught his sleeve. 

“What’s your problem?” said Yamagata. “It’s just a drink. Sit down.”

Kawanishi snapped his arm out of Yamagata’s grip. “You’re an idiot. You got so drunk last night that you need me to tell you all the things you said, and now it’s not even noon and you’re starting again already. If you want to drink yourself into an early grave I won’t stop you, but don’t expect me to sit around and watch.”

Yamagata took a step back and recoiled slightly, as if the words stung. “Dude, it’s not like I drink all the time or anything. Just sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Come sit back down.”

“I said-”

“I’ll just have one,” said Yamagata. He touched his hair, smoothed it back, and let his hand fall awkwardly to his side. “Just… just to take the edge off. I’ll stop after that. I promise. Come sit with me.”

Kawanishi should have left. He was smart enough to know when he was making a bad decision, and going back to that table with Yamagata certainly qualified. Spending time with Yamagata in general was a bad decision and yet he kept doing it.

Slowly, he turned away from the door and returned to the corner table. A few people stared at them. Kawanishi didn’t care.

“Okay,” said Yamagata, when they were seated again. He picked up his drink, studied it, and took the smallest possible sip before putting it aside. “Okay. Look. I just don’t want things to get weird between us if I said some shit. And yeah, okay, I had a couple drinks too many. I have the hangover to prove it. Just tell me what I said.”

He was looking for an easy way out. That was what he always did.

Kawanishi wasn’t about to give it to him. “What do you think you said?”

“Dude, just tell me.”

Kawanishi shrugged one shoulder. “Tell me what you think you said and I’ll confirm or deny.”

“You’re being a dick, man.”

“I can leave. I’d prefer it.”

Yamagata huffed and took another small drink. It seemed like it took a lot of restraint for him to put the glass aside without draining it. “I think I might’ve said some stuff about you. Like… the way you look, I guess.”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did I say?”

“I don’t know, Hayato.” Kawanishi rested his elbows on the table. “What do you think about the way I look?”

A light dust of color clouded Yamagata’s face. “Shit. It was something embarrassing, wasn’t it?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If thinking I look really good all the time is embarrassing for you.”

Yamagata groaned and slapped a hand over his face. “I’m not getting drunk at the club anymore. Sorry, Taichi.”

He always apologized, every time something like this happened, and Kawanishi always let it go. It didn’t count if he was drunk. None of it counted. They would go their separate ways and pretend it had never happened until next week, or the one after, when Yamagata did the same thing again.

Kawanishi was tired of it. He’d never had a high tolerance for other people’s bullshit.

“Was it a lie, then?” asked Kawanishi. He studied Yamagata with a slight tilt of his head. “You don’t think I look good?”

“What? Dude, I was drinking. Just forget about it.”

“So you don’t really think that.”

“Taichi, it’s-”

“You also asked me to go home with you. I don’t think you’d say that to someone unless you think they look good.”

Yamagata stuttered over a response. Kawanishi waited patiently, taking a slow sip of juice. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed watching Yamagata struggle. He just wished it wasn’t over something like this, something that had the potential to hurt.

Eventually Yamagata draped his arms on the table and buried his face in them. “Of course you look good, objectively speaking. You know you’re attractive.” 

Kawanishi did know that, but it was different hearing it from someone else, especially someone like Yamagata. “Objectively I’m attractive, but you’re not attracted to me.”

Yamagata’s voice grew more muffled. “I’m not into men.”

Kawanishi knew that, too. At least, he knew that was what Yamagata always insisted, even if there was evidence to the contrary. “Why do you always flirt with me, then? Do you make a habit of flirting with people you’re not attracted to? I’ve never seen you do it with the other guys.”

Yamagata raised his head, started to say something, faltered. He took another drink and said, “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight. I won’t do it again, okay? I said I’m sorry.”

“That’s what you always say, and then you keep doing it.” Kawanishi looked across the café again, to lessen some of the tension. Everyone else seemed to be having a great time. Of course it couldn’t be that easy for the two of them. “I’m not dealing with you anymore when you’re drunk, Hayato. Not even when you’re tipsy. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come near me. When you’re sober we’re good, but I don’t have room in my life for that kind of bullshit.” 

Yamagata frowned, a little hurt. “C’mon Taichi, I just-”

“I didn’t say it so you’d try and change my mind. I said it because I’m serious.” Kawanishi leveled a stare at him, his face as composed as ever despite the tightness in his chest. “You’re fucking yourself up drinking like that and you know it. Do something about it or don’t, it’s your choice, but I won’t be part of it.”

“Wait, so are you mad because I drank too much or because I hit on you?”

“I’m not mad. I’m just not dealing with your bullshit. I don’t need it.”

Yamagata stared at him, even after Kawanishi looked away. He could feel it. He thought about getting up and walking out but was afraid Yamagata would try to stop him again.

The server returned and asked if they wanted refills. Kawanishi said yes. Yamagata requested water.

“So do you… like guys?” asked Yamagata, in a halting, uncertain way that was unlike him.

Kawanishi still didn’t look at him. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It’s not, not really, I’m just… are you mad because you  _ don’t _ like guys and it’s weird for me to say shit like that to you or…?”

Kawanishi gave him the deadest stare possible. 

“What? I’m serious!” said Yamagata, flustered. “I’m trying to figure you out and you’re not making it easy. You never fucking do. Help me out here.”

“We’ve worked together for over a year.”

“Yeah, but you’re reclusive as hell and you never talk about yourself. And I’ve never seen you with anybody before. Are you dating someone? You’re not, right?”

Kawanishi did not want to have this conversation. He again considered leaving. “No.”

Yamagata leaned forward onto the table expectantly. He didn’t ask a follow-up question, which was probably a lot of effort for him.

Kawanishi sighed and said, “I don’t have a preference. Gender doesn’t matter to me.”

Yamagata pondered that, his brow creasing. “So… you’ve dated men?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” The lines across his brow dug deeper. “What was that like?”

“The same as dating anyone else.” Kawanishi rolled his eyes. “Have any more stupid questions?”

“Did you like… have sex with them?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I’ve fucked men?”

Yamagata’s face burned red, but he didn’t answer.

“Yes, Hayato, I’ve had sex with men. You watch Tendou and Semi grind all over each other in the back hallway on a weekly basis so I don’t know why it matters.”

“It doesn’t,” said Yamagata. He reached for his drink, realized it was empty, and picked up the water instead. “It’s fine. I don’t have a problem with it, it’s just… different. When it’s you, I mean, instead of them. I don’t know. Forget about it.”

“I changed my mind,” said Kawanishi flatly. “I think I prefer drunk Hayato.”

Yamagata scowled down at his glass. “Fuck off.”

The server returned and asked if they were ready to order food. Yamagata raised an eyebrow at Kawanishi, who hadn’t even touched his menu. It didn’t matter. He always ordered the same thing when they came here. 

“Sure,” said Kawanishi. He ordered, and so did Yamagata, and when the server walked away, Kawanishi said something about Tendou just to change the subject. Yamagata went where he was conversationally led, either because of his short attention span or because he was just as eager to talk about something else.

Kawanishi thought that would be the end of it. After the embarrassment of that conversation, he didn’t think Yamagata would mention any of it again.

He was wrong, which happened more than he preferred.

“Yoooo, Tendou!” Yamagata stretched across the table, a pair of shots balanced precariously in his hand. “Take one with me. For Wakatoshi’s birthday.”

Ushijima, sitting right beside him, said nothing.

“His birthday’s in two months,” said Tendou, his eyebrows high. “Has your blood alcohol content finally ascended enough for you to time travel?”

Yamagata snorted and slouched back against the booth. They were in their usual izakaya on their usual Friday night. The only thing unusual was the extra addition Tendou had dragged along like an unwilling stray, sitting as close to the edge of his seat as possible, as if waiting for a chance to run away. His name was Shirabu. Kawanishi didn’t like his attitude, but that wasn’t surprising. He rarely liked anyone the first time he met them.

“Well yours is over already,” said Yamagata, “so we’ve gotta celebrate somebody’s. Hey, new guy. Raven, or Shirabu, or whatever. When’s yours?”

Shirabu looked down at his phone. “Already passed.”

Yamagata huffed. “That sucks.”

Shirabu glanced up, his stare cold. “I’m sorry that my birthday is an inconvenience for you.”

Semi leaned forward a little to frown at him. Kawanishi wondered if Semi was seeing a little too much of himself in Shirabu. He hoped Shirabu annoyed Semi just as much as Semi had annoyed the rest of them during his early days at Plumage. 

“You know what? Fine.” Yamagata planted the shot in front of Shirabu. “Have one to celebrate your first night, then. You did it like a pro.”

Kawanishi thought that wasn’t entirely true. Shirabu’s style of dance wasn’t exactly in line with this kind of job, not yet, although he would get there soon enough. He’d awkwardly stood around more than he’d interacted with the customers, but Kawanishi couldn’t fault him for that, either. Kawanishi had been more lost than Shirabu on his first night, although he would deny that if it was ever mentioned. 

He briefly wondered what Shirabu’s story was, how he’d ended up there, but decided he didn’t care enough to ask.

“No, thanks.” Shirabu glanced down at his phone again.

Yamagata scooped the shot back up. “Want me to order you something different? What do you like?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s late, I’m going home.” Shirabu stood and slipped on his jacket. He didn’t have a bill to settle, because he’d only asked for water and had declined to order any food, despite Tendou’s insistence. “Thank you for inviting me.” The politeness sounded forced, as if it hurt him to say it.

“Anytime, Shirabu-kun!” said Tendou brightly. “We’ll be here every Friday. See you at Plumage tomorrow?”

Shirabu’s face drew a little tight, almost like a wince. “Yes. Tomorrow.” He turned to leave and ignored Tendou’s loud goodbyes.

When he was gone, Tendou’s brightness faded and he slouched a little. “He’s gonna be tough. It’s like Semi has a shorter clone with better manners.”

“Fuck you,” snapped Semi. “I’m nothing like that.”

“Not anymore, but you were just as stuck up when you first got here. More, maybe.”

“I was not. You just wouldn’t leave me alone for more than five fucking seconds at a time. It was annoying.”

“Oh?” said Tendou. He leaned into Semi’s personal space with a leer. “Annoying enough that you’re dating me? Way to make a point, Semi-Semi.”

“Well I can always  _ stop _ .”

They dissolved into bickering, and Kawanishi rolled his eyes. He knew how this would end. He just hoped the argument didn’t reach its conclusion until he was far away from them. 

Yamagata watched them with mild interest, giving up on his faux celebration and taking both shots himself. Kawanishi didn’t look at him, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed. Of course he hadn’t thought one single conversation in the café would change Yamagata’s behavior. He never changed.

“I believe it is time for me to go as well,” said Ushijima. Maybe he didn’t want to see the resolution of Tendou and Semi’s argument, either. “Reon?”

Oohira nodded and stood, clearing the booth for Ushijima to exit. Oohira didn’t sit back down either, so Kawanishi followed their lead and slid to his feet. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” said Kawanishi, keeping his stare averted from the opposite side of the booth, where the arguing had stopped. Now Tendou and Semi were just looking at each other; Tendou grinning and Semi glaring. It was the last step before disaster.

“Later,” said Tendou, not turning away.

“Yeah,” said Semi, his voice low. “See you.”

Kawanishi grabbed his jacket and started for the door without taking the time to put it on. He wouldn’t be around for ground zero, not again.

“Goodnight,” said Ushijima, as the trio left the izakaya. “I will arrive a little late tomorrow, but Semi will open the club. Call if you need anything.”

“We’ll be just fine without you, Wakatoshi,” said Oohira with his usual smile. Kawanishi often wondered how he was so pleasant all the time. It must have been genetic. “Enjoy your time. You deserve a break too.”

Ushijima inclined his head. “Perhaps.”

“Goodnight,” said Kawanishi, nodding at the pair of them before branching off on his own. He checked the time as he yanked on his jacket. It was three-thirty. He could be in bed by four if he skipped a shower, but he wouldn’t sleep as well without one, and he would have to wash his sheets in the morning. He thought it was worth the struggle of staying awake a little longer. Besides, he didn’t like the way his skin felt after he’d worked a shift. Touching customers only happened during lap dances or in the private rooms, and even then it was carefully controlled. But Kawanishi still felt the germs writhing in overlapping layers on his skin. It was mostly in his head, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from feeling it.

“Hey, Taichi! Yo, wait up a minute!”

Kawanishi went tense, his shoulders pulling high, fingers twitching in against his palms and going loose again. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down.

“Hey! Hey, hang on!”

A hand touched his arm and Kawanishi jerked away. 

“Chill, it’s just me,” said Yamagata.

“I know it’s you. That’s the problem.”

Yamagata didn’t seem to comprehend that. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Going home and going to bed,” said Kawanishi, “the same thing you should be doing.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” Yamagata shuffled a few quick steps to catch up with him. He stumbled but caught himself. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go alone, though.”

Kawanishi stopped. He stared blankly at the empty sidewalk that stretched out in front of them and thought of breaking into a sprint, just to get away. He wondered if Yamagata had drank enough that he would be too clumsy to keep up.

“You want to go?” asked Yamagata. He’d stopped too, swaying on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. “With me, I mean. To my place.”

Kawanishi took a deep breath. “No.”

Yamagata’s vaguely pleasant expression dipped into a frown. “Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Yamagata raised a hand. “I’ve only had five drinks all night. That’s not nearly enough to get me drunk.”

“Then you should have no trouble remembering what I told you last week,” said Kawanishi flatly. “I’m not dealing with you when you drink. Five drinks, or three, or one. Nothing.”

“But I’m not  _ drunk _ , so-”

“Shut the fuck up, Hayato.”

Yamagata blinked at him, surprised, and took a small step back. For all their constant bickering, Kawanishi was never harsh. He preferred quiet jabs and clever insults. He didn’t raise his voice.

“I’m not doing this,” said Kawanishi. The words were sharp, bladed. “None of it. I’m not playing along with this. I’m not letting you say whatever you want just for you to pretend it doesn’t matter the next day. I’m fucking done. Go home.” He stormed away, hands shoved so deep in his pockets that they stretched out his jacket. He’d been angry with Yamagata before – more times than he could count – but this time he was furious.

He wondered if he should look for work at a different club, just to get away from him. That might be easier.

“Taichi.” Yamagata was still there, struggling to keep pace with him. Kawanishi took longer strides. “Fuck. Taichi, c’mon, just listen to me for a-”

“No,  _ you _ listen to  _ me _ ,” spat Kawanishi, rounding on him. “I said I’m done. I don’t want to talk to you. Get out of my face.”

“I’m not just… just saying it,” said Yamagata. He’d either forgotten his jacket or hadn’t worn one. His arms were bare, t-shirt rumpled. “I’m really asking. Seriously.”

“Yeah, you’re asking because you’re drunk.” Kawanishi balled his fists tighter. “When you’re sober tomorrow you’ll say you didn’t mean it. You’ll say you’re only into girls and you don’t actually think I’m attractive and you weren’t flirting with me on purpose. It’s bullshit, Hayato. I shouldn’t have to deal with it. I don’t know why you have to fuck with me in particular.”

Yamagata opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. He pushed a hand through his hair and looked down at the concrete. “It’s ‘cause I like you.”

“Like someone else, then.”

“Taichi.” Yamagata reached for Kawanishi’s arm, but he sidestepped. “I’m being serious. I want… Just come home with me, okay? Please?”

“Fuck off.” 

“Tai-”

“Even if you really want me to, it’s just so you can fuck around and see if you like guys. You want to experiment or something and you think since I’ve fucked men before, I’m a good choice. How’s that fair to me? You just want to use me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not doing it.”

He turned, but didn’t get far before Yamagata caught his sleeve. “ _ Taichi _ .”

Kawanishi stopped. He shouldn’t have, but there was something about Yamagata’s voice that made him hesitate. He half-turned, and Yamagata was staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open, looking like he’d just had his lungs ripped out.

“That’s not what it is,” said Yamagata, the words tight, a little pained. “I’m not… I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Not to anybody, but especially not to you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Yamagata’s grip slipped away slowly. He swallowed and said, “I don’t know.”

“Figure it out.” Kawanishi turned away again. He took a few steps, stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t talk to me unless you’re sober. Not ever. I’ll never take anything you say seriously if you’re drinking.”

_"Taichi..."_

Maybe Yamagata was planning to say something else and maybe not. Kawanishi didn’t know. He left as fast as he could without jogging and spent the rest of the night trying not to think about the way Yamagata’s face had looked when he’d walked away.

He thought about it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update, since I'll be busy this weekend. Happy Holidays, if you're into that. Happy random week in December if you're not!

Kawanishi woke up at noon the next day and considered never getting out of bed again; at least not until tomorrow, when he wouldn’t have to work. He shouldn’t be working on Saturdays, anyway. That was a free day for most professional jobs. If he’d finished school and worked at his father’s company, he would’ve been off all weekend.

But he hadn’t done that, so he rolled out of bed and begrudgingly started the day. 

He spent some time on his laptop, checking local listings and submitting his portfolio to some modeling agencies. He didn’t expect a call back, because he hardly ever got a call back, but he kept trying. If he gave up he would have to acknowledge that he would be working at Plumage long-term, and he refused to admit it even to himself. He’d been there for almost a year and a half already, which was far too long, in his opinion.

He knew he sounded ungrateful, even in his own head. Considering the circumstances, things hadn’t turned out as badly as they could have. Ushijima was supportive, Plumage was the least shady club in the city, and it was on rare occasion that a customer did anything untoward. 

But this wasn’t the life Kawanishi had wanted, and he felt that he deserved to be bitter about it, if only to himself.

The afternoon drizzled by quickly, like water dripping through a sieve, and all too soon it was time for Kawanishi to leave for Plumage. He took his time getting dressed, dragged his feet to the door, and left a little later than he should have.

But Ushijima wouldn’t be there on time and Kawanishi thought no one else would notice if he showed up late.

He got there five minutes after opening, which wasn’t objectively very late. Considering the dancers were supposed to arrive half an hour before customers were allowed inside, it was later than he’d intended. He waved at the woman working the counter in the foyer, slipped through the inner door, and hoped no one noticed him sneaking toward the back room.

He felt eyes on him and glanced at the bar. Semi watched him, his stare sharp, dressed in scant straps of leather even though he was bartending. He would switch to the stage when Ushijima arrived, and Kawanishi just hoped Semi chose not to mention Kawanishi’s tardiness.

Shirabu was on stage alone; the first song must have just started, and since he was new, he would be at the beginning of the rotations. Kawanishi had at least another twenty minutes before his name was called, so he didn’t rush as he went to his dressing room and changed into his outfit of the night. It was the one Semi had complimented, although that wasn’t why Kawanishi chose it. He couldn’t care less if Semi thought he looked good.

But if he was getting a compliment he preferred that it was from someone he actually liked, and Semi was so good at his work that Kawanishi couldn’t help but respect him. Semi’s compliments meant much more than the same things coming from other people.

Like the person lurking outside his dressing room.

When Kawanishi opened the door, dressed and ready, Yamagata was waiting in the hallway. He straightened out of his slouch and absently adjusted the hem of his shirt. He was dressed in sweats, and would likely keep them on until his first round on the stage. Regardless, Kawanishi could have guessed what he was wearing underneath. All of Yamagata’s dancing clothes were almost identical.

“Hey, Taichi.” Yamagata spoke a little more quietly than usual, almost as if he didn’t want to be overheard, although there was no one else around. “How’s it going?”

Kawanishi eyed him and took a deep, analyzing breath. Yamagata looked normal, if a little tired, and there wasn’t a stench of alcohol lingering around him. Maybe he hadn’t started drinking for the night yet. “Fine.”

“Good. Cool.” Yamagata gave a weak smile. He seemed to be relieved that Kawanishi hadn’t simply walked away from him. “When you didn’t show up I thought something bad might’ve happened. Guess you just slept too long, huh?”

“No,” said Kawanishi. “I didn’t want to be here.”

Yamagata’s tentative smile flickered and died. He probably took that personally, although he shouldn’t have. He knew how Kawanishi felt about the job. He’d never kept it a secret. “Oh. Well, uh… at least it’s Saturday, right?”

Saturday, which was the busiest night of the week. Saturday, when customers drank the most and tried to push their boundaries. But Kawanishi knew what Yamagata meant, so he just said, “Yeah.”

“You have any plans tomorrow?”

Kawanishi blindly reached behind himself and yanked his dressing room door shut with a snap. “What are you doing, Hayato?”

“What? Nothing. I’m just making conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends.”

Kawanishi stared at him, expression completely flat. Yamagata fidgeted, tried to wait him out, and only lasted about fifteen seconds.

“Okay, look,” said Yamagata, glancing away. “I’m sorry about last night, alright? And yeah, I see the irony. ‘Cause you said I’m always sorry and it’s true. But I really am this time, I shouldn’t have asked you like that.”

Kawanishi picked apart that apology and fixated on the last part.  _ Like that _ . Not as if Yamagata was sorry for asking in general, just the way he’d gone about it. 

“You’re one of the best friends I’ve got, Taichi,” said Yamagata. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other but didn’t step closer. “I don’t want to fuck things up with you. I want you to stick around.”

“Do you even remember what you said?” asked Kawanishi, the words hard.

Yamagata winced. “Yeah, I do. I wasn’t drunk. Just tipsy enough to talk without thinking about what the fuck I was saying. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

There it was again.  _ Like that _ . 

“How should you have said it, then?” Kawanishi glanced down the hallway. It would be easier to walk away from this conversation, the same as he’d done last night, the same as he’d done for the past three months whenever Yamagata started his bullshit.

But unlike all of those times, Yamagata was sober.

Yamagata tugged at the hem of his shirt again. He wasn’t looking directly at Kawanishi. “Well I should’ve drank less for one thing, after you said it bothered you. It’s just… hard, you know? Well no, you probably don’t know, you barely drink at all.” He frowned and folded his arms, then immediately unfolded them again. “And I should’ve, like… talked to you about it, instead of just thinking you’d agree. It was stupid to ask after what you said before. If I’d stopped for a minute to think about it I would’ve known you’d take it the wrong way.” He hesitated, then blurted, “I don’t mean it like that. Obviously that’s how you took it. I know I was being a dick. Like I said, I should’ve talked to you about it first and-”

“Hayato.” Kawanishi’s voice brought Yamagata to immediate silence. “Get to the point. I’ll be called to stage soon.”

Yamagata released a heavy breath. “Right. I, uh… I haven’t drank anything today. All day. Well, I had a beer when I woke up but that was at noon. I’m sober so I won’t have an excuse for saying this later, and I… I do like you, Taichi. As a friend obviously, I already said that, but I also think… Like, I’ve never liked a guy before so it’s weird, and I don’t know how to deal with it exactly, but…” He stopped, swallowed, and slid a quick glance up at Kawanishi – very far up, because he was wearing his heels – and then looked away again. “I flirted with you all those times while I was drunk because I was too scared to do it sober. I meant it, though. And even last night when I asked you to go home with me, I meant that too, although it was a dick move to spring it on you like that. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s easy with girls, but… this is hard.”

Kawanishi suppressed a strong urge to roll his eyes. It would be insensitive; even more insensitive than he usually was. He recognized that Yamagata was making himself vulnerable. Kawanishi wouldn’t kick him while he was down. “It’s the same,” he said. “You do it the same way.”

Yamagata nodded to himself and took a breath as he raised his head. “Okay. Yeah. So do you want to… hang out or something? Tomorrow?”

Kawanishi felt a little warm. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or secondhand embarrassment. He tried to be nice about it, but he was an asshole at heart, and couldn’t help the twitch of a smirk as he said, “Are you asking me out, Hayato? That’s not very straight of you.”

Yamagata’s face burned red, and Kawanishi felt particularly smug.

“Be more specific,” said Kawanishi. “Do you want to hang out or do you want to fuck?”

Yamagata’s cheeks went from a dust of red to vivid scarlet. He hid his face in his hands and groaned. “Why do you have to make this more awkward than it already is?”

“I want to know what I’m agreeing to,” said Kawanishi. It was partially true. He wanted to know what exactly Yamagata wanted, because despite this surprising bout of honesty, it was impossible to be sure. He didn’t think Yamagata even knew himself. 

But Kawanishi would have asked anyway, because he liked embarrassing Yamagata.

“Whatever you want,” said Yamagata, the words muffled into his hands. “We’ll do whatever you want. We can just hang out or we can do… whatever. It’s up to you.”

“Submissive?” asked Kawanishi. “Wouldn’t have expected that.”

Yamagata emerged from his hands to gape at him, mildly horrified.

Kawanishi didn’t laugh, but it took a lot of effort. He forced his face to stay serious as he said, “I’ll think about it. Talk to me when the club closes. I’ll decide before then.”

Yamagata let his hands fall away. “Yeah, okay.” Despite the flush of his face he smiled a little, hopeful. “Sure. No pressure. If you don’t want to, it’s… it’s cool. I don’t want to make things weird.”

“That’s a losing battle. You make everything weird by default.” Kawanishi stepped past him, the click of his shoes muted by the flat carpet. 

“Hey, that’s not true!” Yamagata’s voice bobbed close as he followed. “You’re the one who’s weird.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone you want to fuck.”

Yamagata made a painful choking sound and Kawanishi smiled to himself as he pushed the curtain aside to enter the main area of the club. More people had swarmed in since he’d gotten there. The lights were down except for the glowing colors of the stage, and about half of the tables were already occupied, which was fast considering it was so early. It was going to be a hell of a night. 

The song thrumming through the speakers shifted and a voice said, “Next up on center stage, we have one of our regulars and a crowd favorite. Please welcome the tall, graceful, and gorgeous Osprey!” 

From somewhere near the bar there was a loud wolf whistle. Kawanishi knew without even looking that it was Tendou, who’d written that stupid intro about him.

“Knock ‘em dead, Taichi,” said Yamagata. He grinned up at Kawanishi with a flash of teeth, his face still a little flushed, too handsome for his own good.

Kawanishi already knew what he wanted to say to Yamagata. It was the same thing he’d wanted to say during every occasion of drunken flirting but never had. 

Of course he would agree to go out with Yamagata. The circumstances were questionable, and he had a low-burning fear of getting discarded as soon as the fling was over and Yamagata’s curiosity about men had been satisfied, but he still knew he would agree. In general Kawanishi wasn’t attracted to most people. He was very selective, yet somehow Yamagata had slipped through his social filters and demanded Kawanishi’s attention. Kawanishi typically got what he wanted, but he’d stayed away this time. Yamagata’s constant chatter about women had been the most obvious red flag that Kawanishi had ever seen.

But at some point over the past year Yamagata had slipped a few times, dropping comments here and there about men – primarily about Semi, because it was impossible not to be attracted to Semi – that suggested maybe he wasn’t as rigidly straight as he’d always appeared to be.

Kawanishi ascended the stage stairs, which was perilous while balancing on eight inch heels, and curled a hand around the pole. He surveyed the men below him, seated in a neat row in front of the stage, some of them already leaning close with money in hand. It was easy to tell who’d never seen him dance before. There was a certain sort of eager excitement about them that was painfully obvious. Kawanishi knew he was attractive, and he knew that most of the customers agreed, and he thought of it as nothing more than a convenient way to make more tips.

He slipped a glance toward the end of the room, where Yamagata still stood by the curtain. Yamagata was watching him just like the audience, but it was different: the look in his eyes, and the way it made Kawanishi feel. Kawanishi focused on the customers, pretended Yamagata wasn’t there, and danced. 

If he gave a little more effort than usual, no one had to know.

  
  
  


It was a long night, just as long as Kawanishi had expected. Each three-song rotation on stage felt like thirty minutes, and every time he went into a private room with a customer, he thought he would never get to leave.

Some of the other dancers didn’t mind the job. They actually enjoyed it, in some respects. Kawanishi had become resigned, and he thought that was the best he could do. This wasn’t the sort of atmosphere he was meant for, but he would stay until he had a better option. He wouldn’t get kicked onto the street for not making rent, and he certainly wouldn’t go crawling back to his parents begging for help.

“Taichi?”

The voice through the dressing room door was muffled. Kawanishi yanked his second heel off and let it thunk to the floor beside the other one. It was almost two a.m., his feet were tired, and he wished he was home in his bed. “Yeah.”

The door was nudged inward and Yamagata appeared, dressed in his sweats, hovering awkwardly on the threshold. Usually he would have barged in and made himself at home, but usually he would have been at least a little drunk. 

“Hey,” said Yamagata. He sounded as tired as he looked. He leaned against the doorway in a slump, his hair a little messy, clothes wrinkled. “Going home?”

“I’m sure not staying here.” Kawanishi arranged his heels into a neat row beside the others and dug into his bag for his sweatpants. “As soon as I step out the front door I’ll forget this place exists for about forty-two hours.”

Yamagata didn’t respond to that. He probably couldn’t relate. He liked working at Plumage, liked the dancing and the attention and the energy. Kawanishi could live without all of those things.

“You were good tonight, though,” said Yamagata, as Kawanishi yanked on a t-shirt. “Well you always are, obviously, but… you know.”

“The crowd had a lot of money to burn.”

“No, I think they just liked you.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes and shoved his arms into his jacket. “I’m leaving. If you have something to say then say it.”

He expected Yamagata to bite something sharp back at him, to start one of their usual rounds of bickering, but he didn’t. Yamagata glanced off to the side, hesitated, and asked, “So tomorrow?”

Kawanishi grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. Yamagata backed up as he approached, and when they were both in the hallway, Kawanishi yanked the dressing room door shut. Yamagata flinched at the impact, just barely.

The hallway was empty for now. The other dancers would swarm it soon, when the club was officially closed. Kawanishi had slipped away a few minutes early and Yamagata must have done the same. 

“I’ll text you,” said Kawanishi, “and you can come over. Only if you bring food.”

Yamagata blinked, clearly surprised. “Yeah! Yeah, I’ve got you, whatever you want.”

“And only if you kiss me,” said Kawanishi. “Right now.”

Yamagata’s eyes went wide. He forced a laugh, but stopped when he realized Kawanishi wasn’t joking. He glanced down the empty hallway and said, “What?”

“If you’re serious, prove it.” Kawanishi adjusted the strap of his bag and ignored the nervous flip of his stomach. “I’m only doing this if I’m positive you’re not fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” said Yamagata. “I’m really not. I meant everything I said to you. And I’m still sober, look at me. I feel like I might fucking die, but I’m sober. I want to hang out with you.”

“We always hang out,” said Kawanishi, just because he was selfish, just because he wanted Yamagata to say more.

“Not like that.” Yamagata frowned and glanced down the hallway again. “You know what I mean.”

“You like me,” said Kawanishi impassively, repeating what Yamagata had said earlier. “Okay. Prove it.”

Yamagata looked up at him, down the hallway, back up again. “You’re really fucking tall.”

Kawanishi kept his lips pressed firmly together so he wouldn’t smile. “Should I crouch down?”

“Fuck you, Taichi.” Yamagata took a small step closer, then one more. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out again, and half-reached for Kawanishi before pulling back. 

Kawanishi waited with one eyebrow slightly raised, his face impassive despite his slight amusement and the steep swoop of his gut as Yamagata eased closer.

“Okay,” said Yamagata, in such a low whisper he may have been talking to himself. “Okay.” He curled a hand around Kawanishi’s bicep, went up on his toes, and squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned in. 

The kiss wasn’t impressive. It was quick, more than a little awkward, and only half on Kawanishi’s mouth.

Yamagata rocked back onto his heels, his face red, brow creased into a sharp frown.

“If that’s the best you can do, I’m not wasting my time,” said Kawanishi. He thought that would make Yamagata blush more, that he would stutter and try to make up an excuse.

But Yamagata only frowned harder. “Fine.” His grip on Kawanishi’s arm went tight, and this time when he leaned in, the kiss was dead-on. His mouth was firm on Kawanishi’s, lingering for a few seconds tracked by the kick of Kawanishi’s pulse, before Yamagata pulled away again. He was still red but he met Kawanishi’s eyes, determined.

Kawanishi tilted his head and pretended to consider. “Plenty of room for improvement. I’ll expect it to be better tomorrow.”

“I’m nervous, okay?” hissed Yamagata. “I know how to kiss. I’m great at kissing.”

“Are you?” Kawanishi shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder and turned away. 

“Fuck off.” Yamagata followed him to the end of the hallway. A buzz of voices drew closer, probably the rest of the dancers heading toward the dressing rooms. “So, tomorrow?”

“Pick up sukiyaki on your way over,” said Kawanishi, not looking back at him. “You know which kind I like.”

“Right. Got it.” Yamagata was grinning. Kawanishi felt it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Taichi.”

Kawanishi waved over his shoulder and tried to make it casual. He kept his face perfectly under control as he passed through the incoming crowd of dancers – “Way to work the crowd tonight Taichi, I wanted to give you my money, too” – “Shut up, Tendou, get your shit so we can go home” – and slipped out the front door of the club. The neon sign was a blur in the corner of his eye as he walked away. He made it to the end of the block before he stopped to huff a breath and rake a hand through his hair. 

Kawanishi hoped he wouldn’t regret this.


	3. Chapter 3

Kawanishi waited longer than he should have before texting Yamagata the next day. He kept putting it off; not because he didn’t want to, but because he would have preferred that Yamagata break and text him first.

But Kawanishi had specifically said he would send a text, and Yamagata must have listened, because on any other day he would’ve blown up Kawanishi’s phone with a dozen messages before noon.

Kawanishi went through his morning routine and pretended he wasn’t thinking about Yamagata at all. He slept in too long, checked his phone, rolled out of bed to brush his teeth, checked his phone, went to lounge on his couch for a while, and again checked his phone. 

He held off until about two o’clock.

_ Hey _ .

He clicked the screen off, put his phone aside, and picked it back up when it immediately pinged. 

_ Hey! _

He wondered if maybe Yamagata had been looking at his phone just as much as Kawanishi had. Kawanishi sent back:

_ You can come over whenever _ .

Less than fifteen seconds passed.

_ Okay! Give me 45. Gotta finish the food. _

Kawanishi wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it didn’t really matter, as long as he brought sukiyaki.

_ Okay _ .

_ Cool, see you soon _ .

Kawanishi tossed his phone aside and slouched back against the couch. The tv was on, but it was nothing more than background noise. He hadn’t watched it all day, even if he’d pretended for a while. 

He still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. It was probably the opposite. Yamagata had commitment issues on his best days, even with women. Kawanishi imagined it would only be worse with a man, because Yamagata had spent his entire life thinking he was straight. He wouldn’t be ready for a relationship with a man for a long while.

But this didn’t have to be a relationship. Kawanishi had never been good at those, either. Maybe they could both get what they wanted without having to worry about that.

It was almost exactly forty-five minutes later when there was a knock on Kawanishi’s apartment door. He took his time answering it, because he didn’t want to seem eager.

Yamagata was waiting impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms wrapped around a large pot. “About time, what were you doing? This shit’s hot, where should I put it?”

Kawanishi stepped back, a little confused, and gestured toward the small kitchen. Yamagata toed his shoes off with a distinct lack of grace and crossed the room to slide the pot onto the counter. He stepped back and shook out his arms. 

“Shit,” said Yamagata. He shucked off a pair of gloves that were far too heavy for the season. “The walk seemed a lot longer carrying that around. Should’ve made you come over instead.”

Kawanishi closed the door and squinted at him. “Who made that?”

“Who do you think?”

Kawanishi said nothing.

“I did, obviously.” Yamagata shoved his gloves into his jacket pockets and shrugged it off. “You said you wanted sukiyaki.”

“I assumed you’d get takeout.”

“Homemade is better.”

“From someone else’s home, sure,” said Kawanishi, “but anything you make is probably toxic.”

“Fuck you.” Yamagata shouldered past him to hang his jacket by the door. “I’m good at cooking.”

“I’ve literally never seen you cook.”

“I usually don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean I’m not good at it. I didn’t grow up with a fucking maid, remember? We had to cook our own shit.” He grinned up at Kawanishi. “Not something a rich kid can relate to.”

He was right, but Kawanishi would never admit it. “I’m afraid to eat anything you’ve touched. It’ll probably kill me.”

“You’ll be fine. Where’s your dishes?” He yanked open a kitchen cabinet without waiting for an answer, eyeing the contents before moving onto the next one. 

Kawanishi stood back and watched. He hadn’t realized until then that Yamagata had been to his apartment often enough that he felt comfortable there. It had always been casual, to watch a movie or a sports match or just to sit on opposite ends of the couch and argue over boxes of takeout. It hadn’t been like this, with an air of quiet expectation buzzing like a static undercurrent. 

And on almost all of the prior occasions, Yamagata had a beer in his hand, either carried over from his own apartment or picked up at a convenience store on his way. He didn’t have one now.

“I was afraid it would get cold on the way over but it’s still hot as fuck,” said Yamagata, as he pulled the lid off with a clank and a puff of steam rose from the pot. “Come over here and fill up your bowl first. I know you like the mushrooms best, I put in extra.”

Several minutes later Kawanishi was sitting cross-legged on his couch, a hot bowl of sukiyaki in his hands and the weight of skepticism creasing his brow. The food didn’t look poisonous, but he was still wary.

“Dude.” Yamagata plopped down beside him. “I swear I’m a good cook. At least try it. If it’s gross you don’t have to finish it.”

“I’m not worried about finishing it,” said Kawanishi. “I’m afraid the first bite will kill me.”

Yamagata gave him a flat stare and slurped up a bite from his own bowl. He swallowed and raised his eyebrows, as if he’d proven a point.

“I’ll wait it out for a few minutes,” said Kawanishi. “Just to make sure.”

“ _ Dude _ .”

Kawanishi sighed and sampled the food, hesitant. It wasn’t terrible. It was good, actually. Maybe even better than the restaurant down the street that he often declared his favorite. 

“See?” said Yamagata, smug. “Told you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re not complaining, which means it’s good.”

It wasn’t worth the argument, so Kawanishi settled in and started eating.

The meal wasn’t awkward at first, but the closer Kawanishi got to the bottom of his bowl, the more he felt the tension. He didn’t know if it was rolling off of Yamagata or if it was just situational. Either way, the conversation slowly dwindled and Yamagata got quiet, which meant he felt it too.

“Here.” Yamagata stood and reached for Kawanishi’s bowl. “I’ll wash these.”

“Just leave them in the sink,” said Kawanishi, passing it over. “I’ll do it later.”

Yamagata went to the kitchen sink and rinsed the bowls out for far longer than was necessary. He dried his hands and then dried them again. When he returned to the couch, he wasn’t looking directly at Kawanishi. His mouth was curved downward, half-frown and half-pout. He sat with a safe distance between them, although he’d been sitting closer while they’d eaten.

He might have been anxious. Kawanishi felt a thrum of nerves under his own skin, a persistent uncertainty that this would turn out badly.

Or maybe Yamagata was quiet and awkward because he regretted that he’d suggested this at all. It might seem more real, now that he was here. Plumage was a safe place, because there was only so far they could go. Now they were alone, in the privacy of Kawanishi’s apartment, and there was nothing to stop them.

“Hayato?”

Yamagata startled at the sound of his name. “Huh? Yeah?”

“If you want to go home then go.”

Yamagata blinked and seemed to struggle with his words. “I don’t want… Why would I want to go home?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“ _ You’re _ weird.” Yamagata snapped that back so fast it must have been instinct. He shook his head and said, with less heat, “Sorry. I don’t know what to do. What do you even want to do? You never said. Are we just hanging out or…?”

Kawanishi straightened out of his slouch. “I have some rules.”

Yamagata honed in on him, completely focused. “Okay.”

“I know you like to run your mouth, but you won’t tell anyone about this. No one. Especially not any of the guys at Plumage.”

“Yeah. Of course. I won’t-”

“I’m serious,” said Kawanishi, cutting him off. “This is only between you and me. No one else. Promise me.”

Yamagata nodded slowly. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Kawanishi believed him. He shouldn’t have, because Yamagata was terrible with secrets, but maybe he would keep this one. It was more important than most. 

“And this won’t be a romantic kind of thing,” said Kawanishi. “No feelings and no expectations.”

Yamagata was as solemn as Kawanishi had ever seen him. “Yeah, okay. Friends with benefits.”

“We’re not friends.”

A grin cracked Yamagata’s face, and some of the tension seemed to ease. “Shut up Taichi, you know we are. I told you yesterday you’re one of the best friends I’ve got.”

“I’ll be more specific, then. You’re not  _ my _ friend.”

“Yeah?” Yamagata gestured at the apartment. “How many other people do you invite over? Who was the last person here other than me?”

“Semi,” said Kawanishi automatically, although that had been a few months ago and Semi had only stopped by to pick up a pair of Kawanishi’s old heels that he didn’t wear anymore. 

Yamagata grinned, sharp. “Yeah? Did you give him the same rules?”

Kawanishi kept his face vacant. “Yes.”

Yamagata’s grin wavered, just slightly.

“You’re an idiot,” said Kawanishi, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t touch Semi.”

“Only because he’s with Tendou.” Yamagata shrugged. “You would if he was single and willing. Anybody would.”

“Including you?”

Yamagata frowned, considered, and said, “Yeah, probably. You’ve seen him.”

“So I’m your second choice to Semi. Good to know.”

“No, that’s not what I… Sure he’s hot, but it’s different, you’re more… And it’s not just that you’re hot, although you are, but you’re also… Wait.” His wide gestures stopped and his hands flopped to his sides. “You’re fucking with me.”

Kawanishi snorted quietly. “Yes.”

Yamagata laughed and sank back against the couch, more relaxed than he’d been since he’d stepped through the door. “Jerk.”

“I’m serious about the rules,” said Kawanishi, and he was. This wasn’t something he wanted other people to know about, and he certainly wasn’t willing to get into a relationship with Yamagata, of all people. This might be a bad idea already, but feelings would make it infinitely worse. “And if things get weird, we’re done. I’m not leaving Plumage. Every other club in the city is worse.”

“Right. Got it. No problem.”

“And if you decide you’re not into this,” said Kawanishi, “tell me. We’ll stop and pretend it never happened.”

Yamagata blinked at him. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you care a little bit.”

“Good thing you know me better.”

Yamagata grinned, less sharp than usual. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and said, “So what now?”

“Kiss me,” said Kawanishi, “and do it better than last night or I’ll kick you out.”

Yamagata sat up out of his slouch. “I told you I was nervous!”

Kawanishi shrugged. “Whatever makes you feel better. It still sucked.”

“Fuck you. C’mere.” Yamagata curled a knee underneath himself, twisted toward Kawanishi, and caged him in with an arm on the back of the couch. He leaned in, tilted his head, and hesitated. His eyes were half-open, his exhales touching Kawanishi’s mouth. His breath didn’t smell like alcohol even a little. “So do I just… go for it?”

“Get out of my apartment.”

Kawanishi shoved him, and Yamagata shoved him back, and then they were kissing. Yamagata’s hand fisted in the front of Kawanishi’s shirt and Kawanishi gripped his wrist as if he wanted to pry it away. But he didn’t, and when Yamagata tilted his head a little more, and his tongue traced Kawanishi’s bottom lip, Kawanishi met him. 

It was a significant improvement from the night before. Kawanishi could have almost believed he was kissing someone different.

Yamagata’s hand loosened in Kawanishi’s shirt and smoothed higher, perching on his shoulder, his thumb touching Kawanishi’s neck. He licked into Kawanishi’s mouth, his breath hot, his tongue curling.

Kawanishi let his hand slip away from Yamagata’s wrist. He reached out blindly and found Yamagata’s knee, his hip, and nudged his fingers beneath the edge of Yamagata’s shirt to graze the warm skin of his ribs.

Yamagata’s inhale was sharp. He pulled away to look at Kawanishi, but he was still close, and his hand hadn’t strayed away from Kawanishi’s shoulder. He licked his lips and said, “So we’re really doing this, huh?”

Kawanishi raised a brow and pointedly looked down. “Looks like you want to.”

Yamagata pressed a hand over his crotch, his face burning red. “Shut up.”

“After just one kiss, too.” Kawanishi smiled, just a little, because he knew it would fluster Yamagata even more. “When’s the last time you got laid, Hayato?”

Yamagata shoved him and shuffled back, folding his arms and scowling through his blush. “If you’re just gonna make fun of me I’ll leave.”

“With a hard-on like that? I doubt it.”

“Taichi, I swear-”

Kawanishi pushed a hand against Yamagata’s chest and knocked him onto his back. He went with a huff, and Kawanishi braced a knee between Yamagata’s thighs and leaned over him, an elbow digging into the couch beside Yamagata’s shoulder, their chests touching when Kawanishi dipped down for a kiss. Yamagata was solid underneath him, and the arm that curled around Kawanishi’s waist with tangible hesitation was warm even through Kawanishi’s shirt. 

Kawanishi sat up on his knees and swept his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before stretching over Yamagata again. Yamagata watched him with dark eyes, his pupils blown, lips parted as Kawanishi leaned close again.

“Scared yet?” asked Kawanishi, his mouth a bare breath away from Yamagata’s.

“No.” The answer was hardly more than a whisper. 

Kawanishi lifted one of Yamagata’s hands and pressed it against his own chest. “Disappointed I’m not built like a girl?”

Yamagata looked between them, where his palm was flat on Kawanishi’s skin, fingers brushing his collarbone. He took a breath and repeated, “No. It’s different but not… not  _ bad _ different.”

“What kind of different, then?”

Yamagata moved his hand down Kawanishi’s chest, to the hard plane of his stomach. “Girls are… softer, I guess. You’re not.”

Kawanishi slipped a hand into Yamagata’s shirt. “Neither are you, but you should be, as much beer as you drink.”

Yamagata’s face scrunched up. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know. I’ve been with girls too, remember?”

Yamagata blinked up at him in a way that suggested he actually hadn’t remembered. “Oh. Right.”

Kawanishi pushed his hand up higher, along a toned stomach to a sturdy chest and back down again. The heel of his hand touched the band of Yamagata’s shorts. The weather was too cool for them, but Yamagata had never seemed to care. He wore shorts in every season. “You want to stop?”

“No.”

Kawanishi touched Yamagata’s knee and slipped his hand up the leg of his shorts, feeling his way up Yamagata’s inner thigh, toying at the hem of his boxer briefs. “You sure?”

Yamagata’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Kawanishi moved higher, slowly, and cupped Yamagata’s dick. It jumped under his hand, hot and solid. “You’re this hard and you really never considered you might be into men.”

Yamagata slung an arm over his own face and said, “Shut up about it! It never crossed my mind, okay? I never thought about a guy this way until I met you, and then maybe kinda Semi, but mostly you, and it’s- oh,  _ fuck _ …”

Kawanishi squeezed Yamagata’s cock and he arched up against him, hips bucking off the couch, a low breath hissing through his teeth. 

“I’ve been with some really cool girls,” said Kawanishi, thumbing at the head of Yamagata’s dick through his underwear, “but I’ve always liked fucking men better.”

Yamagata groaned as Kawanishi withdrew his hand. He pushed himself up on an elbow, red-faced. He didn’t reach out, didn’t say anything, but Kawanishi knew what he wanted. He ducked close and pushed his tongue into Yamagata’s mouth, licking behind his teeth, tasting until Yamagata made a low, breathy sound that went straight to Kawanishi’s dick.

He pulled back to hover over Yamagata and said, “At least take your shirt off.”

Yamagata sat up so quickly he almost headbutted him. He wrangled off his shirt, carelessly tossed it away, and flopped back down. Kawanishi had seen him shirtless almost every day for the past year and a half, but he took a moment to look anyway. It wasn’t a bad view.

“So… how’s this gonna work?” asked Yamagata. “Like, am I… or are you…?”

“You’re not topping me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yamagata flushed again, and Kawanishi realized it wasn’t only his face. His chest went red too, a faint dust of color just below his collarbones. 

“But I think you’re too scared for me to top you, so we’re not doing that, either.”

“I’m not scared.”

Kawanishi considered him. He liked having Yamagata laid out beneath him. There was something satisfying about it. “Maybe scared isn’t the right word, but you’re not as comfortable as you should be. I mean, you’re basically a virgin.”

Yamagata’s mouth fell open. “I am not! I haven’t been a virgin since… a long time ago. Fuck you, Taichi.”

Kawanishi grinned. He braced his weight on his knees and sat up high, working at the front of his jeans, enjoying the way Yamagata’s stare zeroed in on his fingers. “You know what I mean. Besides, you got hard when I barely touched you. You wouldn’t last two minutes.”

Yamagata tried to shove him away, but Kawanishi grabbed the back of the couch for balance. “I hate you. Get off me.”

Kawanishi unzipped his jeans. “You really want me to stop?” He dipped his hand into them, fingers curling around himself. He was hard too. Yamagata had probably felt it against his thigh already.

Yamagata watched him, intent, stomach crunching as he pushed himself a little more upright. He swallowed and said, “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Kawanishi shoved his jeans down his hips, just far enough for his cock to bounce free. Yamagata’s eyes were dark, focused, as Kawanishi stroked himself. “You too, then.”

Yamagata hesitated. He didn’t move until Kawanishi’s hand went still, as if he’d been hypnotized. He laid flat and bucked his hips up, battling his shorts down toward his thighs. When his dick slipped out, his face burned even darker. “Then what are we… how are we…?”

“Just trust me.”

Yamagata must have, because he stopped asking questions. At least until Kawanishi licked his own hand, a long stripe from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. Yamagata fidgeted and said, “Don’t you have lube or something?”

“In the other room. You want to stop and go get it?”

Apparently Yamagata didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all as Kawanishi stretched over him again, one arm pressed into the couch by Yamagata’s shoulder, the other reaching between them. Their cocks nudged together and Yamagata sucked in a sharp breath.

“Our dicks touched,” said Kawanishi, as he wrapped his hand around both of them. “You’re not straight anymore.”

Yamagata didn’t say anything. He might not have even heard that. Kawanishi gave them a long, slow stroke and Yamagata rutted up against him, one hand clutching at Kawanishi’s shoulder, the other hooking at the edge of the couch.

Kawanishi released them to lick his hand again, then squeezed their cocks together. He wanted to say something snappy or sarcastic, but Yamagata looked like he was already too far gone to acknowledge any snide comments. Kawanishi kept his words to himself and dipped his head to bite Yamagata’s shoulder as he jerked them off together, the circle of his fingers tight. 

Yamagata hissed, but didn’t push him off. His hips stuttered helplessly, nails digging into Kawanishi’s shoulder. His head fell back and he rumbled a low, sweet dragging sound that made Kawanishi’s dick twitch. 

“You’re this close already,” murmured Kawanishi. He turned his head to speak the words against Yamagata’s neck. “That’s why I didn’t take the time to fuck you. You would’ve come as soon as I got my dick in you.”

Yamagata’s hips bucked higher, a choked off sound catching in his throat.

“If you keep chasing me around, that’s what you’ll get,” said Kawanishi. He licked Yamagata’s throat. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll never want to touch a woman again.”

Yamagata’s moan was low and rough, and Kawanishi swallowed it whole. He flicked his tongue against Yamagata’s, stroked their cocks faster, and bit into Yamagata’s lip. Yamagata went rigid, rocked his hips up into Kawanishi’s hand, and came with a throaty, broken moan. Kawanishi worked him through it, come catching between his fingers and making a wetter slide. He kept going until Yamagata twitched underneath him, spent and oversensitive with come splattered across his stomach.

Kawanishi let go, dragged a hand over Yamagata’s abs to wet his palm, and coated his own cock with the come. He stroked himself slowly at first, despite the need burning deep in his gut, until Yamagata recovered enough to look up at him, heavy-eyed and slack-jawed.

Kawanishi jerked himself faster, Yamagata’s come squelching between his fingers. He held Yamagata’s gaze, even as the first kick of the orgasm hit him, even as his body went tight and his cock pulsed in his hand. He came across Yamagata’s chest, layering on top of the mess, and Yamagata didn’t flinch away.

Kawanishi took a few seconds to catch his breath. Yamagata didn’t move, didn’t say anything at all. Kawanishi put a hand on Yamagata’s leg, half to push himself up and half to discreetly wipe it clean, and sat back on his heels. Yamagata watched him, his face serious, the flush fading out of his cheeks.

“Well?” said Kawanishi. He gave a twist of sarcasm to cover up the concern.

Yamagata’s tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip, where Kawanishi had bitten it. He said, “I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard without having my dick in someone.”

Kawanishi snorted and unfolded himself enough to pull his jeans back on. Yamagata mimicked him, pulling his shorts up to cover himself and snapping the band over their mess with a wince. Kawanishi said, “You should try a prostate orgasm. Whole different experience.” He climbed off of Yamagata and leaned over the edge of the couch to grab his shirt.

“Can we?” said Yamagata.

“Can we what?”

Yamagata sat half-upright. A trail of come trickled down to soak into the edge of his shorts. “Try that. Sometime.” 

Kawanishi laughed under his breath as he sank back against the couch. “That’s gay, Hayato.”

Yamagata flung his arm over his face again. “I hate you.”

“Didn’t look like it two minutes ago.”

“Hate sex is a thing.”

“Sure. Clean yourself up before you drip on the couch. You can borrow a towel.”

Yamagata grumbled, but heaved himself upright. He was halfway to the bathroom when he stopped and said, “So do I have to leave now or can I stay and watch the game?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d get this far. I figured you’d run off all embarrassed before you even got your dick out.”

“Fuck you.” 

Kawanishi snorted. “Stay if you want. You usually invite yourself over on Sundays anyway.”

“Cool. Can I borrow some shorts too?”

“Since you came all over yourself? Sure.”

Yamagata snapped a curse at him and Kawanishi bit down on a smirk as he rose to get Yamagata some clothes. 

Maybe this friends with benefits thing wouldn’t be so bad.


	4. Chapter 4

Kawanishi had been concerned that Yamagata wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, despite agreeing to the rules. He had a hard time keeping his mouth shut even when he wanted to, and when Kawanishi showed up at Plumage for his next shift, he half-expected everyone to know exactly what had happened between them.

But no one made any comments or acted suspiciously, so Kawanishi assumed Yamagata must have kept the arrangement to himself.

He’d also been worried about Yamagata in general. He’d been fine after they messed around, but Kawanishi thought that with time to process exactly what he’d done, Yamagata might get weird about it.

But when he swaggered into Plumage with an easy grin and his usual “Yo, Taichi!”, Kawanishi relaxed.

It seemed like this was going to be just fine.

The week went by smoothly. Kawanishi showed up for his shifts, endured the customers, and collected his money. On Friday he ended up at the izakaya with the other dancers, gathered around the same table as usual. Shirabu was there again, but judging from the way he ignored everyone to stare at his phone, Kawanishi guessed he’d been dragged along against his will. Semi tried to include him, but at best he got short, one-word answers. Kawanishi didn’t miss the irony.

“You dance like you have some experience,” said Semi as politely as possible. A frustrated furrow dug between his brows. “What did you do before this?”

Shirabu didn’t look up. “University.”

One of Semi’s eyebrows twitched upward. “Oh. So… did you drop out, or…?”

“No,” said Shirabu flatly. “I’m not stupid.”

Semi’s expression shifted into something lethal. Before he could say anything, Tendou draped a long, gangly arm across Semi’s shoulders. 

“Then why’d you end up here?” said Tendou, his voice lilting. “Do they have university degrees for stripping now?”

Shirabu slid him a brief, unimpressed look before returning his attention to his phone. “Necessity.” He didn’t elaborate further. Kawanishi expected Tendou to push, but he didn’t.

Semi’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He said “I’m going to the bathroom” and pulled away from Tendou’s arm to trudge toward the back of the izakaya. Tendou watched him go with a dip of his brows before turning back toward the others.

“Where’d you learn to dance then?” asked Tendou brightly, as if nothing had happened. Despite his easy grin he was texting underneath the table, probably to check on Semi. “Not at university, I’m guessing. Not like that.”

“I took dance lessons when I was younger. The style is different but it’s easy to adapt.”

“Dance lessons.” Yamagata’s face twisted like he’d tasted something sour.

Kawanishi sliced a glance at him without turning his head. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Just weird,” said Yamagata with a shrug. “Nobody needs lessons to dance. You’ve just gotta feel it.”

“I feel that you’re a moron,” said Kawanishi. 

“Well I feel that you’re an asshole.”

“Taichi took lessons too, didn’t you, Taichi?” said Tendou. 

“For a few years,” said Kawanishi. “My mom didn’t give me a choice.”

Yamagata rolled his eyes. “Rich kid bullshit.”

Kawanishi almost snapped back something sharp – too sharp, the words on his tongue shaped to wound – but the weight of Ushijima’s stare from across the table stopped him. He wouldn’t back down from a verbal brawl with anyone, but it was best to keep himself in check in front of their boss. The others treated him like a close friend, and Kawanishi liked him well enough, but he was still aware that his job was in Ushijima’s hands.

“What kind of lessons?” asked Reon, in his usual friendly way. 

Shirabu shrugged without looking up. “Ballet, mostly. Other stuff sometimes.”

Yamagata snorted. “Ballet?”

“Don’t talk shit about other people being graceful when you can barely walk in a straight line without falling on your ass,” said Kawanishi.

“Fuck you Taichi, I’m graceful.”

“Didn’t you fall off the stage and break your ankle?”

“It was one time and it was an accident!” said Yamagata, his eyes going narrow. “You weren’t even there. You didn’t work with us yet.”

Kawanishi took a slow sip of water, eyeing him. “Whether I was there or not doesn’t change anything, although I wish I’d seen it. Sounds hilarious.”

“You’re such a fucking-”

“Hayato.” Ushijima’s voice was quiet, but it was enough. Yamagata huffed and slumped back in his seat to sulk, reaching for his half-empty beer. He hadn’t drank as much as usual that night. He wasn’t sloppy or careless, not yet, but he ordered another drink when the server came by.

“Anyway,” said Tendou into the new quiet, “I think ballet is cool. And I’m a professional, my opinion matters more.”

“Professional pain in my ass,” muttered Semi as he returned to the table. He seemed calmer after taking those few minutes to collect himself. Kawanishi wondered what Semi would be like if he got genuinely angry. They’d seen him in a perpetual bad mood when he’d first started at Plumage, but he’d never lost his temper. 

If it ever happened, Kawanishi suspected it might be because of Shirabu.

They’d already been there for a while, and it was about thirty minutes later when they started trickling away. Shirabu was first, sparing a mumbled goodbye as he excused himself and headed for the door. Everyone else wasn’t far behind, and Kawanishi was on the street walking in the direction of his apartment when Yamagata spoke up behind him.

“Yo, Taichi.”

Kawanishi didn’t respond, but he skipped a step so Yamagata could catch up.

“You want to hang out tomorrow?” asked Yamagata as he matched Kawanishi’s steps. “My place or yours, whichever.”

“I don’t know,” said Kawanishi. “Are you sure you want to spend your time with a rich kid?”

Yamagata snorted. “C’mon, I was kidding. You said you wanted to watch me break my ankle and I’m not mad about it.”

“The difference is that I wasn’t kidding.”

“Whatever. You want to or not?”

Kawanishi considered that. Sunday had gone well and Yamagata hadn’t done anything weird since then, which was a surprise. Kawanishi had at least expected him to bring it up, either at Plumage or in one of the thousand texts he sent every week. But he’d been mature about it, more mature than Kawanishi had thought he would be. 

Kawanishi glanced to the side.

And despite all of Yamagata’s flaws, Kawanishi couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t attractive. He’d known that since they’d met, even if he’d spent the last year and a half pretending not to notice.

“My place,” said Kawanishi. “Yours should be condemned.”

“I would clean first!” Yamagata was clearly trying to sound offended, but he was grinning. 

“You don’t know how to clean. Your entire life is a mess and you’ve never cleaned that up.”

Yamagata knocked into him with a shoulder. “Fuck you.”

“I’ll text you,” said Kawanishi as they reached the end of the street. Yamagata lived the other way. He would have to backtrack to the izakaya and go from there. “It won’t be early, though. I’m sleeping in.”

“No shit. If you get up before noon I’ll consider it a miracle. Funny how you spend so much time in bed but you never actually sleep.” He grinned up at Kawanishi and spun on his heel to head the opposite direction. He stumbled a little, and it could have been from the few drinks he’d had or natural clumsiness. Kawanishi suspected the latter. He was still surprised that Yamagata was such a good dancer considering he could trip over literally nothing. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Kawanishi kept walking and didn’t look back until he was certain Yamagata was out of sight. He still had a muted concern that this was a bad idea, but it was weaker than it had been before. The first time had been fine. He didn’t think a few more flings would hurt them.

They made it to the bed this time, which may have been better or worse depending on perspective. Better, because there was more room to sprawl. Worse, because Kawanishi would definitely have to wash his sheets. 

Lube dripped from his fingers onto the bedsheets and Kawanishi said, “Stop being extra and spread your legs.”

“It’s weird, okay?” said Yamagata, his thighs clamped closed. He’d been hard a few minutes ago after they’d kissed themselves breathless, but his dick was going soft now. Kawanishi intended to fix that. 

“You’re the one who said you want to do it,” said Kawanishi.

“I know that! And I do, it’s just…” Yamagata fidgeted. “You’re about to put your fingers in my ass, dude.”

“Thanks for explaining that, I might have put them in the wrong place.”

“Taichi!”

“Just relax and trust me,” said Kawanishi. He wedged his clean hand between Yamagata’s knees and pried them an inch apart. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not a virgin like you.”

“I told you I’m not a-”

“Hayato.”

Yamagata’s complaints shattered into silence.

“If you changed your mind, just tell me.” Kawanishi said it quietly, without a trace of teasing. “We can do something else. Or nothing, if you want.”

Yamagata exhaled, low and heavy. He squeezed his eyes shut, filled his lungs again, and slowly looked up at Kawanishi. “No, I want... Okay. I’ll… okay.” His thighs parted, but not far enough. He swallowed and said, “If I tell you to stop will you make fun of me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know! You make fun of me a lot.”

“Only when you deserve it,” said Kawanishi. “And no, I won’t. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. I might be a shitty person, but I’m not that shitty.”

Yamagata nodded, more to himself than Kawanishi. He was naked except for his socks, and although Kawanishi had seen him next to nude hundreds of times before, it was different when he was laid out in Kawanishi’s bed. “Alright. Okay. Go ahead.” His legs eased further apart. “But don’t look while you’re doing it.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me!”

“Shut up.” Kawanishi planted a hand on the inside of Yamagata’s thigh and pushed it open. He settled closer, wedging himself between Yamagata’s knees in case he tried to snap them shut again. He traced his fingers up Yamagata’s thigh and brushed them over the tip of his cock, which was now soft against his hip. He curled his hand around Yamagata’s dick, pressed a thumb against his balls, and smirked at the way Yamagata twitched. “I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not. It’s not that.”

Kawanishi hummed and slipped his lubed-up hand between Yamagata’s legs. Yamagata jolted at the touch, his legs clamping together on impulse and squeezing around Kawanishi’s hips. Kawanishi didn’t push; he just let his fingertip linger, moving in careful circles, his other hand smoothing along the length of Yamagata’s cock. “What is it, then?”

Yamagata closed his eyes, but that didn’t seem to be enough so he flung an arm across his face, too. “I don’t know. It’s just… weird.”

“People do this all the time, Hayato. Even straight guys. With women, I guess, but still. So if it’s because you’re still in denial about-”

“I’m not in denial,” said Yamagata. He raised his arm just high enough to peek out at Kawanishi before hiding again. “Like… Obviously I like men, okay? You’re hot as fuck. I’ve known that since I met you, I just didn’t let myself think too hard about it. I’ve thought other guys were hot too, it just… never felt right.”

Kawanishi thumbed at the head of Yamagata’s cock. It was a little firmer. “Does this feel right?”

“It feels awkward,” said Yamagata, “but it would be worse with someone else. I’m glad it’s you, you know?”

Kawanishi tried to shrug that comment off and ignored the low heat that flashed across his cheeks. He almost wished Yamagata was a little drunk so he could blame the alcohol. 

But Yamagata had shown up stone cold sober, as if he’d really listened when Kawanishi had told him he wasn’t comfortable with the drinking.

Kawanishi shifted his finger and pressed into Yamagata, just barely. He went stiff, which was expected, and Kawanishi stroked his cock until he relaxed again. “The more tense you are, the harder it is,” said Kawanishi. “Chill.”

He thought Yamagata would argue but he huffed a breath and sank back, muscles unknotting. “Yeah, yeah. I’m trying.”

Kawanishi nudged his finger further inside him, as slowly as possible. It was a tight fit. Despite Yamagata’s efforts, he was still clenching. Kawanishi shifted his knees back and dropped down to his elbows. He looked up at Yamagata, who’d emerged from the shield of his arms to peer at him. 

“What’re you doing?” asked Yamagata.

“Helping you relax. You’re welcome.” Kawanishi gripped the base of Yamagata’s dick, leaned forward, and wrapped his mouth around the tip. 

Yamagata went rigid, his inhale sharp, but as Kawanishi sucked more of him in, he gradually melted until he was almost limp; except for his cock. That certainly wasn’t limp. 

Kawanishi lapped at the head, sucked his way down again, and eased his finger into Yamagata. It went easily now, the slide smooth with lube. He pulled it out and then pushed back in again, and when there was no resistance, he wedged in a second finger.

Yamagata twitched, but Kawanishi continued licking at his cock and Yamagata didn’t complain. He worked his fingers in deeper, until his palm was flush against the curve of Yamagata’s ass.

“Is it still weird?” asked Kawanishi, his lips moving against Yamagata’s cock as he spoke. 

Yamagata’s hips bucked weakly. “Yeah.”

Kawanishi dipped down to suck at Yamagata’s balls. Yamagata squirmed, but not away from him. “I’m about to make you forget it’s weird. You trust me?”

Yamagata nodded, face still half-hidden. His voice was raspy as he repeated, “Yeah.”

Kawanishi’s cock was solid, pressed between his thigh and the bed, but he ignored it. He focused on Yamagata, slipping his fingers in and out in shallow thrusts, tonguing at the head of Yamagata’s dick. Yamagata’s hips rocked up and Kawanishi used his free hand to pin him down.

Kawanishi sank in, curled his fingers sharply, and smirked around Yamagata’s cock as he lurched half upright, eyes flying wide, flattening his hands against the bed to hold himself up. Kawanishi raised a brow at him, pulling his fingers back until they caught at his rim. 

“Is it supposed to feel like that?” said Yamagata. His face was red and so was his chest, from his collarbones down to a patchy dusting at his sternum. He looked wrecked, and Kawanishi had hardly done anything.

“I don’t know,” said Kawanishi. He licked a long stripe from the base of Yamagata’s cock to the tip, nudging his fingers back in as he did it. “What did it feel like?”

Yamagata just stared at him, pupils blown, hair in disarray from his own hands. 

Kawanishi licked his lips. “Did you like it?”

Yamagata was breathing too fast. He shifted as Kawanishi’s hand moved, but the shift was toward him, not away. He said, quietly, “I think so.”

“We’d better make sure, then.” Kawanishi dipped his fingers further, crooked them at a sharp angle, and watched Yamagata’s eyes flutter closed as his body went tense. Kawanishi’s cock throbbed, begging for attention.

Kawanishi glided a hand up Yamagata’s ribs, grazed his thumb over a nipple, and smirked at the way Yamagata twitched. “Lie back. I’ve got you.”

Maybe Yamagata’s embarrassment had passed, or maybe he was too turned on to argue. He collapsed down, arms flung out to his sides, knees falling open wider. 

Yamagata had said he was glad this was happening with Kawanishi, that it would be more awkward otherwise. Kawanishi wondered if that was true, if Yamagata was only doing this because it was him, because he felt comfortable.

Kawanishi hoped so. Maybe that was selfish of him, but he really, really hoped so.

He slid his fingers in and out of Yamagata slowly, curling them every couple of strokes, mouthing at Yamagata’s cock lazily. It was hot and hard and he fleetingly wondered how it would feel inside of him.

Maybe he would find out sometime, but not today. 

He jammed his fingers in deep and rocked them up, keeping the pressure until Yamagata arched off of the bed, his moan low and rough.

“Fuck.” It was breathy, barely even a word. “ _ Taichi.” _

The sound of his name made Kawanishi’s cock throb. He grinded down against the bed as he sucked Yamagata’s dick into his mouth all the way to the base, the head of it touching the back of his throat. He pressed his fingers harder and Yamagata twitched against his tongue.

“Holy fuck,” said Yamagata. He was panting, his hips jerking, held down by Kawanishi’s hand. “Taichi, fuck,  _ fuck _ … I’m gonna… I can’t…”

Kawanishi moaned, louder than he usually would have, just so Yamagata could feel it against his cock. He jabbed his fingers in hard, tightened his mouth around Yamagata’s dick, and sucked until he came hot and bitter down Kawanishi’s throat.

Yamagata pulsed in his mouth, a fractured cry on his lips, his hands digging tight into the sheets. Kawanishi swallowed until he was dry, rocked his fingers until Yamagata’s shuddering went from pleasure to oversensitivity. He withdrew slowly and pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

Yamagata collapsed back, his chest heaving. He looked as if he’d been fucked within an inch of his life.

Kawanishi wondered what he would look like after a good fuck, a real one. 

“Shit,” said Yamagata, voice thready. “I didn’t think it would be like that.”

Kawanishi sat back on his heels. “Was it better or worse than you expected?”

“Better,” said Yamagata immediately. “Definitely better.”

“I hate to say it,” said Kawanishi, “but now that I’ve had my fingers in your ass, you’re definitely not straight anymore.”

Yamagata laughed, light and honey-sweet and a little breathless. “I don’t think I’ve been straight for a while, dude. If I wasn’t sure then, I am now.”

“Congratulations. Want a gift basket?”

“I wouldn’t turn it down.” Yamagata propped himself up on his elbows, eyes dipping down to Kawanishi’s cock, a bead of precome dripping from the head. “You want me to…?”

Kawanishi gripped the base of his own cock and squeezed lightly. “No. You don’t have to.”

Yamagata pushed himself up higher, abs flexing. “What if I want to?”

“I don’t know if I trust you around my dick. You’ve never touched one that wasn’t your own.”

Yamagata rolled his eyes and rose to his knees. His temples were damp with sweat, soaking into the edges of his hair. “I think I can figure it out. If I do it wrong you can tell me.”

Kawanishi almost refused on general principle, but the sight of Yamagata nude and fucked out and grinning in his lopsided way was impossible to turn down. 

And he really wanted Yamagata to touch him. He’d wanted that for a while, even before Yamagata’s drunken, pathetic attempts at flirting.

Kawanishi untangled his legs from beneath him and sat against the wall, the plaster cool against his shoulderblades and the sheets warm against his thighs. He spread his knees and Yamagata crawled closer, his stare stuck to Kawanishi’s cock. It was hard and curved and Kawanishi flinched when Yamagata reached for it.

Yamagata’s hand fell short, landing on Kawanishi’s thigh instead. “Do you seriously not trust me to touch your dick?”

“It’s not about trust,” said Kawanishi. It took some effort to keep his voice level as Yamagata’s hand crept higher. “I just know you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Not true. I’ve jerked off like a thousand times.”

Kawanishi didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t have to. His flat expression was plenty.

“Okay, yeah, it’s different.” Yamagata sat up on his knees and pawed around until he found the lube Kawanishi had tossed aside. He squeezed some into his hand and said, “Close enough, though. I’ve got this.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue or move away when Yamagata inched closer. His fingers slid along the length of Kawanishi’s cock, featherlight. 

“Gay,” said Kawanishi.

Yamagata snorted. He curled his hand and found a grip, careful but firm, his palm slick. “Maybe.” He pumped his fist once, slowly, and Kawanishi couldn’t keep his hips from kicking up. Yamagata’s eyes strayed from Kawanishi’s cock to his face and back again. “Am I doing it right?”

Kawanishi tilted his head back and rested it against the wall. “I don’t know. When you start doing something instead of just sitting there looking at me I’ll tell you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Yamagata squeezed his hand up toward the head of Kawanishi’s cock and back down again, starting a slow rhythm. Lube squelched between his fingers. “I’d think you’d be nicer to someone who literally has your dick in his hand.”

“Stop asking stupid questions then.” Kawanishi’s thighs tensed with the need to buck up against Yamagata’s hand but he didn’t let himself. “And go faster.”

“Okay, okay.” Yamagata stroked him more quickly, his thumb rubbing against the head of Kawanishi’s cock with each upstroke. His other hand settled high on the inside of Kawanishi’s thigh, his skin warm, hand callused from all the time he spent on a pole. His pace slowed and he said, “Hey, Taichi.”

“What?” Kawanishi said it through clenched teeth.

“Should I… Do you want me to, uh… Suck you off? Like you did for me?”

Kawanishi closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand Yamagata’s expression; focused, anxious, a little bit eager. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have time to teach you how to suck dick today,” said Kawanishi. 

“Fuck you, Taichi, I-”

“If you don’t start jerking me off again I’ll do it myself.”

Yamagata seemed to realize he’d gone completely still. His hand started back up and Kawanishi exhaled, curling his fingers into the sheets on either side of him. 

“I’m trying to help out, okay?” said Yamagata. The circle of his fingers was tight in just the right way. “It’s only fair. It can’t be  _ hard _ , I mean, I’m great at eating out women so sucking a dick should be-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll kick you out and never speak to you again.”

Yamagata’s rhythm faltered, but started back up before Kawanishi could snap at him again. He was quiet, but not for long. “You’re really turned on right now, huh, Taichi.”

It wasn’t a question exactly. Kawanishi wouldn’t have answered anyway.

“Is it because I’m hot?” said Yamagata. “It’s because I’m hot, right?”

Kawanishi opened his eyes into a glare and Yamagata grinned back. He was closer, leaning into Kawanishi’s space. 

“Can I at least kiss you?” said Yamagata. “I’m good at that.”

“Are you?” said Kawanishi. “I haven’t been impressed yet.”

Yamagata’s mouth tilted into a grin. His fist twisted around Kawanishi’s dick and then his tongue was in Kawanishi’s mouth, fingers tangled in tawny hair to tilt Kawanishi’s head back further.

Kawanishi almost reached out, but dug his fingers harder into the sheets to stop himself. His hips rocked up against Yamagata’s fist, encouraging him to go faster, and he huffed a hot breath into Yamagata’s mouth.

“Fuck.” It was Yamagata who said it, the word mumbled against Kawanishi’s lips. Yamagata peeled back and glanced down between them, at his hand jerking Kawanishi’s cock in fast, slick strokes. “Is this okay?”

“Shut up,” said Kawanishi. He barely got the words out. “Shut the fuck up and just-” 

The command was lost as Kawanishi came, his hips stuttering up into Yamagata’s grip. Yamagata froze, and Kawanishi almost slapped his hand away to touch himself instead but Yamagata starting pumping him again, his quick pace dissolving into long, smooth strokes that made Kawanishi’s breath more shallow. Come sprayed hot against his stomach and one of his thighs. When the last pulse of the orgasm faded into a low buzz and Yamagata pulled away, Kawanishi settled back against the wall and cracked his eyes open.

Yamagata was staring down at his hand, shiny with Kawanishi’s come.

“Lick it off,” said Kawanishi.

Yamagata gave him a look of utter horror and Kawanishi laughed, feeling featherlight. Yamagata blinked and his expression changed into something different, softer. He said, “You don’t get less mean after sex. I’m not surprised.”

“That wasn’t sex.” Kawanishi sat up straighter, a smile still pulling at his mouth. His dick was slowly going soft against his thigh. “That was just fucking around.”

“Right. Whatever.” Yamagata looked down at his hand again. “Can I use your shower?”

“Go ahead.” Kawanishi tilted onto his side, a drip of come trailing down his stomach to stain the sheets. “Wake me up when you’re finished. I need it, too.”

“You can go first. This is your apartment, it’s not like-”

“Just go, Hayato.” 

Yamagata rolled his eyes and crawled to the edge of the bed; clumsily, because he kept his sticky hand in the air. He climbed to his feet and looked back at Kawanishi, sprawled comfortably. “Can I stay to watch the game?”

“No. I got what I wanted from you. You can leave.”

Yamagata snorted. “We’ll order takeout. You’re buying, I brought you food last time.”

Kawanishi didn’t argue. He watched through heavy eyes as Yamagata crossed the room. Just as he passed through the doorway, Yamagata raised his hand and touched the tip of his tongue to his palm. 

Kawanishi closed his eyes and pretended not to notice the way that made him feel. It was easy, because he was already ignoring the way the rest of this made him feel.

He’d told Yamagata already that no feelings would be involved in this. He’d meant it then, and he meant it now.

They were just friends, this was just for fun, and it wouldn’t be anything more. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday brunch had always been a sporadic event. Yamagata would text once a month, sometimes on Saturdays instead, and demand that Kawanishi join him at the café. Most of the time Kawanishi went. Sometimes he didn’t. 

But now for the sixth consecutive week in a row, Yamagata had asked and Kawanishi had dragged himself down the street to meet him.

Usually he would have refused to socialize so often, but Yamagata was significantly less annoying when he wasn’t halfway to drunk at all times. Kawanishi didn’t mind spending time with him. 

And their friends with benefits arrangement had been going smoothly for the past month, with none of the awkwardness that Kawanishi had feared. A couple of times each week Yamagata would come over, mess around, and go home again. Sometimes they ate together, but not always. It was casual and comfortable, and Kawanishi could honestly say he didn’t regret it.

But as he walked into the café and saw the back of Ushijima’s head, he thought maybe he regretted agreeing to brunch.

“Taichi!” Yamagata grinned and waved before Kawanishi could retreat. “You’re actually on time. It’s a miracle.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes and dragged his feet over to the table. Tendou and Semi were there too, which was good. It meant Tendou would do all the talking and Kawanishi could sit quietly until he could excuse himself.

Kawanishi didn’t have a problem with Ushijima. He’d always been unfailingly polite and had treated Kawanishi well from the first day he’d started at Plumage. Giving Kawanishi a chance despite his less than enthusiastic attitude had been an act of utter altruism, and Kawanishi hadn’t forgotten it.

Still, it didn’t matter how many times they went out to the izakaya or met for brunch or otherwise spent time together. Ushijima was a special sort of intimidating and Kawanishi never knew what to say to him.

“I have a theory he’s always late on purpose,” said Tendou, as Kawanishi sat. “It’s just one of many ways for him to inconvenience everyone around him.”

Kawanishi flipped him off and reached for the glass of juice in front of him. Yamagata must have gotten there early and ordered for him.

“How are you, Kawanishi?” said Ushijima, as formal as he’d been the day they met.

“Fine,” said Kawanishi. He glanced at Ushijima and then away. “You?”

“I am well, thank you.”

“I think you forgot to comb your hair,” said Yamagata with a grin. “You look like hot trash.”

Kawanishi gave him a flat look and said nothing. He definitely didn’t reach up to fix his hair. 

“Don’t be such a jerk, Hayato,” said Semi. His lip ring clinked against his glass. He had the same bubbly drink as Yamagata, who had been through two of them already, based on the empty glasses on the table. 

“That’s funny coming from you,” said Yamagata. “When we first met you were the biggest jerk I’d ever met.”

“I was not. I was just shy.”

Tendou snorted. “Shy. Right. You’ve never been shy a day in your life, Semi-Semi.”

“I didn’t know  _ shy _ meant the same thing as  _ a complete asshole _ ,” said Kawanishi. “Thanks for the vocabulary lesson.”

Ushijima frowned. “I believe  _ shy _ actually means-”

“We know, Waka.” Tendou patted his shoulder. “Anyway, what’s happening in everybody’s lives? Let’s catch up. The club’s been so busy lately there’s been no time to chat.”

“No time to harass everyone, you mean,” said Semi.

“Call it what you will.”

“My grandma died,” said Yamagata, much too brightly. “Too bad my whole family’s poor so I didn’t get an inheritance or anything.” They all stared at him until he added, “I haven’t seen her since I was five. The only memory I have of her is when I spilled something in the kitchen and she smacked me with a frying pan. My dad didn’t take me around anymore after that.”

“There’s a lot of childhood trauma to unpack there,” said Tendou thoughtfully, “but I don’t think we have time for it. Maybe you should talk to your therapist, Hayato.”

“What therapist?”

“Okay, new plan. Get a therapist. I can recommend a great one.”

Yamagata snorted. “I grew up just fine.”

Kawanishi raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Fuck off, Taichi.”

“Maybe this explains why you’re always chasing fifteen women at a time,” said Tendou, propping his chin in his hand. “You’re subconsciously seeking the affection you were denied in your youth. Textbook psychology.”

“I had plenty of affection.”

“Oh,” said Tendou. “Maybe you’re just kind of slutty then.”

Semi choked mid-drink and ducked his head to cough. Tendou cackled and slapped him between his shoulders. Yamagata glared at him and then down at the table, reaching for his drink again.

“C’mon, that was funny!” said Tendou, leaning close to him. “Learn to laugh at yourself. You think it’s funny, right, Taichi?”

Kawanishi shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. 

“You guys are no fun.”

“That was in bad taste, Satori,” said Ushijima.

Tendou rolled his eyes and lounged back in his chair. “Fine. Sorry for bringing up a perfectly valid point and making a joke of it, even though we all know Hayato sleeps around. How many girls have you hooked up with this week? Three? Four? More than that?”

“No.” Yamagata frowned into his drink. It was almost empty. 

“Two?”

“None,” said Yamagata. He tipped the glass back and drained it, pushing it into a cluster with the others. “I haven’t slept with any girls.”

Girls specifically, because he’d sucked Kawanishi’s dick yesterday before they’d gone to their shift at Plumage. He was still a little clumsy about it, but he was getting better. Kawanishi had made him pull off near the end, because Yamagata had almost choked to death the first time he’d tried to swallow. 

“Oh,” said Tendou. “Rough week? Don’t worry, you’ll get your vibe back. We can help out, right, Semi-Semi?” Tendou twisted around in his chair. “There’s gotta be some girls here who’d be into you. What about that one, she’s-”

Semi grabbed Tendou’s shoulder and yanked him back around. “Stop fucking around, Satori. Drop it.”

“Why’re you all in such a bad mood today?” said Tendou, his wide eyes swiveling to each of them in turn. “It’s Sunday! Everybody loves Sundays. No work tonight. Let’s order another round, to wipe that look off Hayato’s face. Where’s our server? Hey, miss, can we-”

Semi slapped Tendou’s hand out of the air and seized a handful of his shirt, yanking him close to hiss something low and scathing in his ear. Semi’s usual resting expression was a scowl, but this was sharper, cutting.

Yamagata was still frowning down at the table. He reached out for his empty glass and turned it between his palms. 

“Have some juice,” said Kawanishi, pushing his drink over. “If you’re thirsty.”

Yamagata raised his head. “Huh? Oh. Nah, it’s okay.”

Kawanishi nudged it closer. Yamagata blinked, then smiled a little as he reached for it. 

“Okay, okay,” said Tendou, pulling away from Semi and again taking control of the conversation. “Sorry, Hayato. I didn’t mean that comment about you being slutty. I was just messing around. You’re an upstanding member of society and we’re lucky to have you.” 

Semi slammed an elbow into Tendou’s ribs and he winced.

“And obviously I don’t really think you’re like that,” said Tendou, rubbing at his side. “You know how to have a good time, that’s all. Our good times are just different.”

“Is everything okay with you?” asked Semi, leaning forward to peer at Yamagata. “Usually you have a few girls you’re meeting up with. Anything wrong?”

“No,” said Yamagata. He took a sip of Kawanishi’s drink. “Everything’s fine. It’s good. I just… haven’t felt like it lately.”

Tendou started to say something, but abruptly snapped his mouth shut. Kawanishi had a suspicion Semi had just pinched him under the table.

“If you ever need anything, we’ve got you,” said Semi. “You know that, right?”

Yamagata smiled. It was a little forced. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Eita.”

“Okay, subject change so this doesn’t get more awkward,” announced Tendou. “We all know what’s going on with Yamagata now. Obviously Semi-Semi and I are madly in love-” Semi made a scrunched-up face of borderline disgust, even though all of them knew better- “and Taichi hates everyone. What about you, Wakatoshi? Any life developments you want to share?”

Ushijima pondered that, long enough that the server swept back by to collect the empty glasses and promise a quick round of refills. Eventually Ushijima said, “I am seeing someone.”

Kawanishi’s eyebrows lifted. Across the table, Tendou’s mouth fell open.

“You’re  _ what _ ?” said Tendou, baffled. “How? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me!”

Ushijima frowned. “That is too many questions.”

Tendou sputtered and said, “ _ Who _ ?”

“I would prefer not to say.” 

“Waka, you can’t just say that and then not tell us! Is it Reon? It’s Reon, isn’t it? I knew it.”

Ushijima’s brow creased. “No. It is not Reon.”

“Then who-”

“It is recent,” said Ushijima, “and I would like to see how things proceed before I discuss it.”

“Right,” said Tendou. “Great. But who-”

“We respect that,” said Semi, talking over him. “Let us know if you ever want to talk about it, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima inclined his head. “Thank you.”

Semi steered the conversation firmly away from their love lives and into safer territory. Kawanishi half-listened, but he was mostly thinking about Ushijima dating someone. He’d been single since Kawanishi had known him, and trying to picture him in a relationship was difficult. He rarely had an emotional response to anything at all. Kawanishi couldn’t imagine him being interested in someone.

Kawanishi wondered what kind of person had attracted Ushijima’s attention.

He’d thought it would be him, when he’d first been hired at Plumage. But Ushijima had never spared him a second glance, and Kawanishi had given up on that quickly. He’d been bitter for a while, but he’d gotten over it. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Kawanishi had learned that he needed someone who balanced him out. He and Ushijima were too much alike; serious and distant and dedicated to keeping their emotions buried way down deep. It had only been a surface-level attraction, nothing more. He’d been over it within a week.

“Yo, Taichi.” Yamagata leaned over and placed his fresh drink in front of Kawanishi. The server must have stopped by while Kawanishi had been lost in his thoughts. “I know you don’t drink much but try this.”

“Pass.”

“C’mon, you shared yours with me. Just a taste.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes but took an obliging sip. It was highly carbonated and his nose scrunched as the drink bubbled on his tongue. Yamagata laughed, quietly, and took it back. He grinned at Kawanishi and gulped down half of the glass at once.

Yamagata was a lot like that drink; bright and bubbly and almost too much. But still sweet past the bitter twist, still soft under his rough edges.

Tendou talked for most of their hour there, and at this point Kawanishi didn’t think it was a personal choice. Tendou couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth every waking moment. It would have driven Kawanishi insane, but Semi seemed to endure it well. 

For now it was convenient because Kawanishi could sit back, pick at his food, and throw an occasional glance at Yamagata without having to contribute to the conversation. When brunch was over – “Lunch,” corrected Semi, the eighth time Yamagata said it. “It’s noon, which is also the only reason Taichi was on time” – they left the café together and said their goodbyes at the door. Tendou went in for a hug and Kawanishi easily sidestepped him. It was instinct at this point. Tendou shrugged off the loss and approached Yamagata instead, althoug he didn’t lunge in to embrace him like he usually did. Tendou said something quietly, his face unusually solemn. Kawanishi thought he was probably apologizing again. 

Yamagata grinned and slapped Tendou’s shoulder amiably. Of course he wouldn’t hold a grudge. It wasn’t in his nature.

“It was good to see you,” said Ushijima.

It took Kawanishi a moment to realize he was being spoken to. “Yeah. You too, Ushijima.”

Ushijima inclined his head. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

Kawanishi fought back a cringe. He didn’t like to be reminded of work on his days off, but Ushijima was the one person he would never say that to, so he settled for, “Sure.”

Ushijima drifted away and Kawanishi intended to do the same, but Yamagata caught him before he’d taken a single step. 

“Hey, Taichi. I need to buy some new dancing clothes, mine are getting worn out. Wanna come over and help me pick?”

Semi, who’d tuned out of whatever Tendou was saying, raised an eyebrow at them.

Kawanishi considered that. The obvious answer was no. They’d spent a couple of hours together yesterday, and they usually had a few days in between their hook-ups. More importantly, Yamagata had had at least four drinks, and Kawanishi had made it very clear that he wasn’t dealing with Yamagata when he’d been drinking. 

But he was far from drunk, Kawanishi had nothing to do with the rest of his day, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to.

“Yeah, okay,” said Kawanishi.

Semi’s other eyebrow rose to join the first. Kawanishi chose to ignore him.

“We’ll see you guys later!” said Tendou, slinging an arm across Semi’s shoulders. “My new show starts this week. You’re both invited.” He’d said it a few times already. Again, Yamagata said he would be there and Kawanishi didn’t say anything at all. 

The walk was peaceful despite Yamagata’s chattering, and Kawanishi wondered why it wasn’t as annoying as Tendou’s constant talking. Maybe because Yamagata didn’t have to fill every silence with words; he talked a lot, but there were conversational lulls too, when he looked around at the shops or at the passing cars without feeling the need to say anything. Or maybe it was because Yamagata asked him questions that mattered, not needling, teasing ones, and he seemed genuinely interested in Kawanishi’s answers. Maybe it was because when Kawanishi spoke, Yamagata listened without talking over him.

“I cleaned the place up about a week ago, but you know how it is,” said Yamagata, as he unlocked his apartment door. “It’ll never be as good as yours.”

“Only because you’re too lazy to clean it the right way.”

Yamagata snorted as he pushed the door inward and stepped back to let Kawanishi in. “Don’t talk to me about being lazy until you get out of bed before noon.”

“I got up at eleven-thirty today,” said Kawanishi as he kicked off his shoes. 

“Only because I invited you to brunch.”

“Still counts.”

Kawanishi waited for Yamagata to lead the way through the apartment; not because he’d never been there before, but because he didn’t know if Yamagata wanted to fuck around on the couch or in his bed. Both would be health hazards, considering the state of the apartment.

Except he noticed, as they passed through the cramped kitchen, that it wasn’t as disgusting as it had been last time. There were a few dishes in the sink, but the counters were clear. The living room wasn’t bad either, except for the scatter of gaming controllers on the end table and a headset on the floor. Yamagata plopped down on the couch, tossed the crumpled blanket out of the way, and knocked one of the controllers aside to unearth his laptop as Kawanishi sat next to him.

“I’m thinking about trying a new style,” said Yamagata as he flipped the lid open and tapped at the keyboard until the screen lit up. “I always wear the same shit, and sure I look good, but I don’t want to be boring, you know? I found some cool leather stuff but I don’t want to rip off Semi. He looks better in it, anyway. But maybe some neon? If we could talk Wakatoshi into getting blacklights it would be awesome. Or hey, maybe some chains or something, I don’t know. Here, look at these.” He shoved the laptop at Kawanishi and leaned in close to peer at the screen. “What about that one?” said Yamagata, pointing. “Think I could pull it off?”

Kawanishi glanced at him. “This is seriously why you invited me over?”

“Uh… yeah? Isn’t that what I said?”

It was, but Kawanishi thought it had just been a good excuse to use in front of Tendou and Semi. He hadn’t thought Yamagata actually wanted him here for his opinion.

“Yeah,” said Kawanishi, “but I thought you just wanted to fuck.”

Yamagata’s face flushed immediately. Kawanishi knew from personal experience that his chest was red, too.

“I just wanted you to help me decide what to buy,” said Yamagata. He rubbed at his face with the back of his hand and shifted slightly away. “Because you always look good, you know? Your clothes and stuff. I didn’t… I mean, I know you don’t like messing around when I’ve been drinking, so I didn’t think…”

Kawanishi glanced at the grid of half-dressed models on the laptop screen and then back to Yamagata. “I don’t buy my clothes on cheap ass websites like this, for one thing.”

Yamagata smiled, relieved. “See? Good advice. That’s why I asked you.”

Kawanishi clicked a few times and started typing. As the new webpage loaded, he said, “You understand why I have a problem with the drinking, right?”

Yamagata’s head tilted slightly. He said nothing.

“It’s not like before, when you were using it as an excuse to flirt with me,” said Kawanishi. He kept his eyes on the screen because this was easier to admit this if he wasn’t looking directly at Yamagata. “That’s not a problem now. But you were drinking a lot back then, Hayato. More than anyone ever should. You’ve backed off a lot, but… I was worried about you. It wasn’t healthy.”

Yamagata didn’t say anything, not until Kawanishi pushed the laptop back at him and pointed out a few things on the screen. Yamagata looked at them, then turned toward Kawanishi again.

“You were worried about me?” repeated Yamagata, his voice low. “For real?”

“Everyone was. Do you even realize how much you were drinking every night?”

Yamagata ignored that. “But you don’t worry about anybody. You just take care of yourself. You’ve told me that before.”

“Fine,” said Kawanishi. He sat back and folded his arms. “I won’t do it again, then.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Yamagata reached out, hesitated, and let his hand rest on Kawanishi’s leg for a few seconds before pulling back. “I just… didn’t think you cared.”

“If you drink yourself into a coma, Ushijima will hire someone more annoying than you. I don’t want to deal with that.”

Yamagata grinned. “Be sarcastic all you want, Taichi. You already said you were worried about me.”

Kawanishi rolled his eyes. “I suddenly changed my mind.”

Yamagata’s laugh was sharp and bright. “Sure you did.” He dropped his attention to the laptop, still smiling. “Do you think my ass would look better in this one or this one?”

Kawanishi sighed and leaned in. “That one. Bright colors are good with your skin tone.”

“Cool.” Yamagata clicked it into the cart and kept scrolling. After a moment he glanced sideways at Kawanishi and said, “Hey, you wanna make out after this?”

Kawanishi could have given a scathing reply, a dozen of them, but he simply said, “Okay.”

Yamagata smiled more widely, and something vivid and flighty twisted in Kawanishi’s stomach.

Kawanishi pointedly decided not to think about it.


End file.
